***
The midday meal, which Helen learned was called tiffin, was served at two o’clock in India. Afterward, she just had time to hurry to her bedchamber, change into her pressed lavender gown, and make her way to the drawing room, arriving at fifteen minutes before four. When she stepped inside, she found the room empty save for the punkawalla—a boy of about twelve—who sat in a corner, pulling on the rope that moved the large fan.
Helen nodded to the boy and looked around the room, smoothing her already smooth dress as she tried to determine the best place to sit in order to greet Lieutenant Bancroft when he arrived. If she sat near a window, he might get the impression that she had been watching for his arrival. But she did not want to sit on the sofa, or he might think she expected him to sit beside her. What if he did sit beside her? What if he didn’t? Her heart was beating so loudly now that she was startled when someone behind her coughed.
Helen’s heart jumped as she imagined Lieutenant Bancroft had arrived early and discovered her standing in the middle of the room wringing her hands. But when she turned, she saw a servant holding out a letter.
Thanking him, she took the note and opened it.
Dearest Helen,
I learned a new consignment of clothing arrived from London on our very ship. We simply must see them before the other women in Calcutta claim all of the best dresses. I would love it more than anything if you would join me at Taylor’s Emporium tomorrow afternoon. What fun we shall have choosing gowns for Lord Minto’s ball! As we are such dear friends, it would be a travesty if we did not plan our ensembles together.
If you are agreeable to the plan, Mother and I will collect you at three.
Yours,
Fanny
Hearing a step behind her, Helen’s heartbeat skipped again. She turned and let out a breath as her mother entered the room.
Lady Patricia glanced down to the letter in Helen’s hands, obviously believing it to be the cause of the nervousness in her daughter’s expression. “Does the lieutenant send his apologies?”
“Oh no. This is simply a note from Fanny.” Helen offered the letter to her mother. “She invited me to shop for gowns tomorrow.”
Lady Patricia glanced over the note, and Helen did not fail to see her mother’s nose wrinkle. Like her husband, she was not overly fond of Fanny. She stepped to the sofa and sat, patting the seat beside her. “And will you accompany her?”
Helen sat next to her mother, relieved that the matter of where to sit had been so easily resolved. “I suppose I shall. I do not need a new gown, but I should like to see more of the city.”
“I worry that Fanny only wants to direct what you shall wear to the ball.”
That same thought had occurred to Helen, but she did not like to think that Fanny was so small-minded. “Perhaps. Or she simply desires my company.” Helen knew she sounded pathetic. Fanny was not the sort of person to do anything without a motive.
“Of course.” Lady Patricia slid the note back into the envelope and held it toward her daughter.
Neither had an opportunity to comment on the shopping excursion or Fanny Cavendish further because at that moment the turbaned butler stepped into the room and placed his palms together, thumbs on his forehead, and bowed. “Lieutenant Bancroft and Sergeant Carter,” he said then stepped aside to allow the two red-coated men to enter.
Helen’s heart flew into her throat.
Lieutenant Bancroft strode toward them looking every bit as dashing as she remembered. “Lady Patricia.” He swept up her hand, bowing elegantly.
“How very kind of you to call on us,” Helen’s mother said.
“A pleasure, my lady.” The lieutenant turned his blue-eyed gaze to Helen. “And of course, Lady Helen.” He took her hand and inclined his head. “Delighted to see you again.”
Her mind had emptied at his touch, and her heart beat so loudly that she wondered if anyone else could hear it. “Lieutenant.” She was amazed to have been able to force the word through her dry throat.
A slow smile spread over his face and melted Helen’s insides into a puddle. He turned and held a hand toward his companion. “Ladies, if I might introduce my friend Sergeant David Carter.”
Sergeant Carter stepped forward and greeted both women.
As Lady Patricia exchanged niceties and offered the gentlemen a seat, Helen took a moment to study Lieutenant Bancroft’s friend. She could not help but compare the two men. Sergeant Carter was a shortish man with squinting eyes and red cheeks. His manners were not as graceful as Lieutenant Bancroft’s. His hair hung limply as opposed to the thick curls of his companion. His coat did not fit nearly as well.
The men sat in armchairs across from the sofa. “How are you finding Calcutta, my lady?” Lieutenant Bancroft directed his question to Helen.
She let out a breath before answering, hoping to calm her nerves. “I . . . well, I have not seen much of the city, of course. I did walk a bit in the gardens around the house this morning, and they are splendid.” She noticed that she was twisting her fingers and forced herself to stop, clasping her hands nicely in her lap as she’d been taught.
Sergeant Carter nodded. “Yes, this is the perfect time of year. In another month the heat will be unbearable. And of course, monsoon season will drive most of us to the hills.” He leaned back in the chair, resting his ankle on his knee. “The general will no doubt be removing his family to Simla during the rains?”
Lady Patricia nodded. “That is indeed his plan; although I must say, I do not fancy traveling again so soon now that we have just arrived.”
The hamal in her bright orange-and-red sari arrived with a tea tray, and Helen was glad to have something to occupy her hands as she poured the tea.
Leaning forward, Lieutenant Bancroft accepted the offered cup and saucer. His fingers brushed Helen’s, sending a wave of heat over her skin. Helen set her own cup on her knees and stared down at it as she tried to calm her rapid heartbeat.
“With the weather so perfect, Lieutenant Bancroft and I have taken a short leave, beginning tomorrow.” Sergeant Carter selected a small cake and took a bite.
“And where will you go?” Lady Patricia set her cup and saucer on the small table next to the sofa.
“The jungle, of course.” Lieutenant Bancroft elbowed his companion. “Not much else for diversion in this country, eh, Carter?”
Sergeant Carter moved his cup away to prevent a spill when his friend’s elbow hit his ribs. “Quite so. One thing India can boast is excellent game.”
“And what type of animals are you hunting?” Lady Patricia asked.
Lieutenant Bancroft leaned forward. “You would not believe the diversity of game in these jungles. Carter and I are after deer, lions, wolves, leopards, jackals . . . of course, monkeys. We might even bag a tiger.”
Helen let out a gasp. “Oh, no, you mustn’t shoot any monkeys.” The words slipped out before she had a chance to think, and she wished she could suck them back into her mouth, where they belonged.
One side of Lieutenant Bancroft’s mouth lifted in a smile, and his brows rose. He shook his head as if looking at a darling child that did not quite understand the ways of adults.
“I . . . excuse me. I did not mean to . . .” Helen could not help herself thinking of Badmash and the way he had befriended Captain Rhodes. The monkey’s dark eyes and mischievous manner. “Monkeys just seem . . . harmless . . . and clever.”
Sergeant Carter’s squinty eyes squinted even further. “Oh, of course this is upsetting to you, my lady. You have obviously seen a monkey now and then in London, wearing a vest and doing tricks with a street performer. I admit, they seem delightful, but when you’ve spent more time around the dirty beasts in their natural habitat, you’ll not think of them as anything but disgusting pests.” He sipped his drink, placing the cup back into the saucer.
Heat seared Helen’s face. The officers must believe her to be a simpleton, a child who could not bear to hear anything that might upset her delicate
feminine sensibilities.
Lieutenant Bancroft placed his cup on the low table. “Hunting monkeys in the jungle is a rare delight. Once the little beasts hear a gunshot, they spread out, chattering and swinging through the trees in a panic. That’s the challenge—hittin’ the wee devils while they’re on the move. We’ve bagged twenty or thirty at a time, ’aven’t we, Carter?”
Helen’s stomach turned over as she imagined monkeys falling from the vines onto the jungle floor.
Sergeant Carter cleared his throat. “Delicious cakes, my lady.”
Lieutenant Bancroft continued speaking as if he hadn’t heard his friend. “Then the real fun begins; the leopards smell fresh blood, and if we’re lucky even a tiger will come to—”
Jim entered the room, stopping Lieutenant Bancroft’s words, and both men rose to their feet and saluted.
“Bancroft, Carter. Welcome. Please, sit down.” Jim crossed the room to sit in the chair next to the sofa.
Helen poured a cup of tea for her stepfather, relieved that the conversation had been interrupted. She did not know how much more of the topic she could stomach.
“Good afternoon, General,” Lady Patricia said. “Lieutenant Bancroft and Sergeant Carter were just telling us about the hunting trip they will be taking on their leave tomorrow.”
“Aye. Thought I heard something about fresh blood and tigers.” Jim nodded as he accepted the cup from Helen. “Hardly a discussion I expected to hear in my drawing room with the ladies of my family.”
Helen glanced at the men. Sergeant Carter’s mouth pulled slightly in a grimace, looking properly chastised.
But Lieutenant Bancroft did not seem to recognize the subtle reprimand. “Speaking of tigers, sir. You’ve one of the best specimens in the city right here in your library. Unless General Spencer took it with him. I’ve admired that big cat every time I’ve seen it.”
“Yes, a very fine trophy,” Jim said, darting a glance to Helen. “I’d thought to relocate that particular object. Perhaps it is better suited to my office at the fort.”
Helen felt her face heat again, both at the reminder of her ridiculous overreaction the night before and also in appreciation to Jim for wanting to remove the horrid decoration because of the distress it had caused her.
“Surely you do not wish to be rid of it,” Lieutenant Bancroft said. “I aim to have one of my own before I leave this sweltering country. Perhaps I shall make it into a rug. I have quite a few trophies myself—a few horned deer heads, a wolf skin, and a beautiful snow leopard.”
“Quite a collection, then.” Jim brushed the cake crumbs off his fingers. “Did I hear the new theater near Park Street is to be completed in a few weeks? I imagine there will be any number of musical performances. That should interest you, ladies.”
Lady Patricia touched her fingertips to her breastbone. “I have certainly missed the theater since we left London. And, of course, Helen is so fond of music.”
“A music appreciator, Lady Helen?” Sergeant Carter nodded. “I expect you shall be delighted with the small orchestra Lord Minto has engaged for the ball next week. You know, all of the officers are invited.”
“Ah yes, the Governor-General is giving a ball. Another reason to be delighted at your arrival, Lady Helen.” Lieutenant Bancroft’s white smile and the cocky tilt of his head made Helen’s blush return.
She stared again at her cup, heart racing as the lieutenant continued to speak.
“The ball will be a perfect opportunity to peruse the hunting trophies at the Raj Bhavan. Do you know Lord Minto has a mounted elephant head?”
Chapter 7
Michael shifted in the leather chair, glancing up at the large bull elephant head that hung on the wall above the mantel in Lord Minto’s library. Its ears flared to the sides, its trunk hung straight downward, and curved ivory tusks protruded from under its cheeks. The small glass eyes were a light blue, although Michael had only ever seen a brown or greenish color on the animals. He allowed his gaze to travel around the room. The sight of so many lifeless eyes watching him was unnerving. The Governor-General had an exceptionally large collection of hunting trophies from his time in India. Every animal Michael could imagine—and some he had never seen nor had a name for—prowled, snarled, crouched, coiled, or simply hung, bodiless and silent, on a wall or shelf.
Michael scratched his neck as his eyes lit on a large tiger rug that covered a good portion of the floor. The animal’s head was full-size, posed with its mouth open, looking angry and defiant at the fact that the rest of its body was stretched out flat with a table leg resting on its left hip. The sight of the white, pointed teeth brought to mind Lady Helen and the story of her reaction to the stuffed tiger. He could imagine how in the candlelight, alone, this room would make even the bravest man uneasy.
Lady Helen. Michael closed his eyes and allowed his head to rest back against the chair as his thoughts returned to their visit the day before. The young lady was intelligent and compassionate and complicated in the way that made Michael want to understand every minute facet of her. Even something as simple as her smile evoked so many feelings that a day later the mere memory of it was utterly intoxicating and . . . confusing. What was so different about this woman that after only two days he could not stop thinking of her, analyzing the words she’d said, each variation in her expression, and the way she’d held his hand? The skin on his palm grew warm, as if it too remembered her touch.
The sound of voices caught his attention, and he stood at attention as General Stackhouse and Lord Minto entered the room. The general returned his salute, and the earl inclined his head.
“Captain, glad you’re here.” Lord Minto patted his hand over his white powdered wig held back by a strip of ribbon, which so many men over the age of sixty still considered fashionable. The earl eased into a chair and gestured for Michael and the general to do likewise. “General Stackhouse told me you’re aware of our position as far as Shah Ahsan Ali is concerned.”
“Yes, my lord.” Michael sat straight on the edge of his chair and dipped his head once quickly as he spoke.
“And will you please explain to me how the situation has possibly progressed to this point without my knowledge?” Lord Minto’s dark eyes bore into Michael. The contrast with his pale skin and white hair made them appear all the darker.
Michael paused for a moment. Telling the full truth would reflect badly on his former commander, but protecting General Spencer would make Michael look as if he had not done his duty.
General Stackhouse squinted. “We’re not here to point fingers or accuse anyone of neglect, Captain. Speak freely.”
“Very well, sir.” Michael said. He blew out a breath. “A relationship was maintained between Fort William and the Shah’s kingdom in Northern Bengal until the time of General Spencer’s appointment.”
“What kind of relationship?” Lord Minto asked.
“Friendly, diplomatic. The exchange of gifts and official visits. To an Indian ruler, such formalities are extremely important. Durbars, they are called. Leaders discussing policy and exchanging compliments. To us, it seems trivial, sir, but to the Shah, it is a display of his power for all his subjects. Unfortunately, General Spencer did not, uh, see the need to continue these customs, and it could not have come at a worse time.” Michael resisted the urge to clench his fists and beat them on his knees. This had been a source of tension between him and his commander for years, and he wished the man were sitting here in this very room where he could hear the results of his unwillingness to recognize the significance of what he had called “ostentatious nonsense.”
Michael cleared his dry throat before he continued. “The Shah is worried for his health, and his fear that he will not have a male heir and thereby forfeit his lands to the Crown has become all consuming. Another daughter was born just as diplomatic relations ceased. Paranoia as to the Crown’s actual intent has led to the Shah’s growing army and skirmishes on the borders.”
“And do we have reason t
o fear this threat?” Lord Minto asked.
“Are you asking if we could defeat the Shah’s army?” General Stackhouse asked. He raised his shoulders in a shrug. “I believe so. But at what cost? Heavy casualties, certainly. They know the terrain, and it would take an enormous amount of time to gather troops from all over India in order not to deplete our forces at any one position. We would be impeded by the summer rains. Not to mention the cost of launching an invasion—building roads, supplies, weapons. An expensive and unnecessary campaign when the entire situation could be diffused by much simpler means.”
“What means?” Lord Minto patted his wig again.
General Stackhouse turned to Michael, raising a hand in an invitation to explain.
“An official visit. A friendly diplomatic call with gifts and an invitation for the Shah to do likewise. We offer our protection, provisions, should they be required. An alliance. The Shah will respond positively if we reopen the path of friendship. Show him we do not intend anything but to be good neighbors—”
“And let that barbarian believe we are afraid of his feeble display on our borders?” Red splotches grew on Lord Minto’s neck. “We represent the most powerful kingdom in the world, and you are suggesting we grovel at the foot of a pitiful local prince with gifts and apologies?”
“Of course not.” General Stackhouse’s expression did not change, but Michael noticed a muscle in his jaw was clenched. “We are suggesting that, as the stronger power, we have no need to demonstrate our capability. The Shah is fully aware that these events could be considered acts of aggression, but by not reacting with force, we show that his display is of little matter to us. And as Captain Rhodes said, a simple diplomatic call will diffuse a situation before it grows. ”
“I truly believe, my lord, there is nothing to fear. The Shah will treat his guests respectfully. It is a matter of honor to him,” Captain Rhodes dared to interject. “And right now we have the perfect excuse. The new general is taking the opportunity to introduce himself, and I hear the Shah’s newest wife is soon to have her first child. Strategically, the perfect time to show our friendship.”
Lady Helen Finds Her Song Page 6