A Modest Independence

by Mimi Matthews

  At Paris, he’d suggested they disembark. They could break their journey. Stay a night or two and enjoy the benefit of fine food and comfortable lodgings. Wouldn’t that be a nice diversion? But Jenny had been unmoved. She was set on reaching India without delay.

  “We’ve already wasted a day by overnighting in Calais,” she’d said.

  Tom had an argument prepared for just such an objection, but he’d refrained from using it. There was no point wasting all his rhetorical ammunition this early in their journey. No doubt he’d need every argument he could muster to keep Jenny’s worst impulses in check once they reached India.

  She was such a determined creature. So full of courage and certainty. Justin had called her a managing female, but Tom recognized what his friend could not. In the absence of family and friends, Jenny Holloway had become accustomed to relying on herself. To trusting her own judgment and valuing her own opinions.

  What need had she of a man?

  He looked at her in the darkness, feeling the same peculiar tightening in his chest he’d felt the first day they’d met.

  A small oil lamp swung from the corner of their compartment, casting a flickering glimmer over her dozing form. She was facing the window, one arm draped loosely over the swell of her green silk skirts. He couldn’t see her eyes—had no idea whether she was awake or asleep. From his seat beside her, he could only see a shadowed glimmer of her profile. The soft curve of her cheek, the firm line of her jaw, and the delicate shell of her ear.

  She’d removed her hat shortly after they boarded the train. Her head was uncovered, her hair bound up in a large, haphazard roll at the nape of her neck. It looked as if her pins could scarcely contain it. Several curling auburn tendrils had already sprung lose to frame her face.

  He wanted to reach out to her. To brush the stray strands back from her cheek. It would be no more than what they’d already discussed. An act of familiarity. Of tenderness. She wouldn’t object, surely.

  But great as the temptation was, Tom resisted. He was in no hurry. He’d learned to wait for what he wanted.

  He settled back in his seat, folding his arms. A short moment later, Jenny turned her head to look at him. Their eyes met in the shadows. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “No. Just woolgathering.” She yawned behind her hand. “What time is it?”

  Tom withdrew his pocket watch. “Quarter past eleven.”

  “It feels later.”

  “It does.” He returned his watch to the front pocket of his waistcoat. “What about?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Your woolgathering. Was it on any subject in particular?”

  “Oh that.” She paused. “I was thinking about Giles.”

  A pitcher of ice water upended over his head couldn’t have been more effective.

  Giles Reynolds, 6th Earl of Castleton. Damn him to Hades and back. He was the proverbial ghost at the feast. A gentleman against whom Tom could never hope to compete.

  A gentleman who was very probably no longer alive.

  “What about him?”

  “Mr. Thornhill hasn’t spent very long trying to find him. Just since the business with Helena’s uncle was settled last October. The inquiry agent he hired hasn’t even traveled to India yet. And Mr. Thornhill himself has only written letters.”

  “I wouldn’t say only. Those letters Thornhill wrote to his acquaintances in India produced the only creditable lead we have on the last days of the late earl.”

  “You’re speaking of Colonel Anstruther? The officer who witnessed Giles’s death?”

  “I assumed he’s the reason you’re so set on reaching Delhi.”

  “He is. I mean to question him. To look him in the eye and ask him straight out what happened to Giles at the siege of Jhansi. After that, I intend to question anyone else I can find with a connection to the siege, all the way down to the officers’ batmen and servants. The only trouble will be in locating them all.”

  “Anstruther might be of help in that regard.”

  “And if he tells us nothing?”

  “Someone else will. We’ve only to ask the right questions.”

  “I don’t hold out a great deal of hope,” Jenny said. “But that won’t stop me from exhausting all of my efforts. Helena is so certain that her brother is alive. She says she’d know it if he were dead. That she’d feel it somehow.”

  “What about you? Would you feel anything if Giles were dead?”

  “I don’t see how I should.”

  “You’ve kissed him.”

  “He kissed me. And the experience was hardly enough to inspire an affinity for one another. Indeed, when the letter came with news of Giles’s death, I had no reason to doubt it. After all, why would Colonel Anstruther lie about such a thing? Unless he was confused or suffering some sort of injury himself. In which case—”

  “Giles was rumored to be having an affair with Anstruther’s wife.”

  “What?” She drew back from him. “Who told you that?”

  “Thornhill. One of his friends in India wrote him with the local gossip. Apparently, there was no love lost between Giles and Anstruther. Whether that has any bearing on Anstruther reporting Giles dead, I have no idea. But it’s an interesting fact, nonetheless.”

  “Helena never said anything.”

  “Perhaps she was embarrassed? The tale doesn’t cast her brother in the best light.”

  “You knew about it.”

  “Only because Thornhill wished me to do what I could to find out if Giles might still be alive.”

  “Did you discover anything that might be of use?”

  “Regrettably no. I have little influence in India. My power—such that it is—reaches only so far as the English shore. And possibly into Le Havre.”

  “Why Le Havre?”

  “I had a case there once. A lengthy matter. I developed a dozen or so contacts in the area.” Tom frowned. “No. When it comes to India, it’s Thornhill who has the reach. And even that’s limited by the events of the uprising. He left Cawnpore with a black cloud over his head. I don’t expect he’ll ever go back.”

  “He would if Helena asked him to.”

  “Is she likely to do so?”

  “No,” Jenny admitted with a sigh. “Not even for Giles. Which is why it’s up to me to discover what happened to him. There’s no one else to do it. No one who has the mettle—and who knew Giles as I did.”

  “You needn’t look so oppressed. You’re well on your way.”

  “Yes, but to what end?

  “The truth, I trust. Whatever that may be.”

  Her brow creased. “I suppose.”

  “You don’t sound entirely convinced.”

  “I am. That is, I was. Things were much clearer to me in the daylight. They always are. When night falls, I…I have a terrible habit of second-guessing myself. It’s one of the reasons I find it so hard to sleep.”

  He smiled at her confession. She’d made it so quietly. So haltingly. As if self-doubt were something to be ashamed of it.

  “And now you’re laughing at me.”

  “No,” he said. “No. But you’re not the only one who suffers from a lack of certainty. I have moments of self-doubt myself on occasion.”

  “Yes, but at my age—”

  “At your age? You’re eight and twenty, not eight and eighty. I’m years older than you and I still—”

  “How many years?”

  Tom stopped, midsentence, feeling his face heat. Was there no end to the blushes Jenny Holloway could wring out of him? “Three and thirty. I look older, I know. A consequence of my profession. You should see Fothergill.”

  “Nonsense. You don’t look old at all.” She raised a hand to his face, her fingers brushing the edge of his hairline. “You’ve no trace of gray hair.”

  He looked at her
intently, holding his breath as the pads of her fingertips touched his temple, lingering just above the metal arm of his spectacles. It was the briefest contact. Seconds, merely. But it fired his blood and set his heart to racing.

  She withdrew her hand, her face coloring in the light of the oil lamp. “Forgive me, I—”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  “I feel foolish being so forward.”

  “Don’t,” he said again, his voice gone gruff. “Everything you do is pleasing to me.”

  Her expression softened. “Oh, Tom. You say that now…”

  The rest of her words were lost in the shrill whistle of the train. It slowed as it approached the next station, the shriek of the engine and the screeching brakes piercing the darkness.

  A guard shouted: “Dijon! Dix minutes d’arrét!”

  Jenny sat forward in her seat, the thread of their conversation seemingly forgotten. “Ten minutes? That’s not very much time.”

  “No.” But it was more than had been allotted at the last stop. There, they’d only been given six minutes to disembark and avail themselves of the buffet. Several of the passengers hadn’t completed their business fast enough. Tom had seen them running alongside the train, shouting and cursing as it departed the station without them.

  “Can we get out?” Jenny looked hopeful.

  “That depends. Are you very hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  “Then yes. But you have to stay close to me. We don’t want the train to leave with only one of us on board.”

  “No, indeed.” She retrieved her hat, securing it on her head with a dangerous-looking hatpin.

  Tom glanced out the window at the smoke-engulfed platform. It was too late for dinner and not early enough for breakfast. Nevertheless, when they disembarked, it was to find the railway refreshment room fully stocked. Two very tired-looking ladies worked behind the counter, doling out comestibles to the equally tired passengers. For six francs, Jenny purchased two baskets, each containing a cold meal of breads, meats, and cheeses. Another two francs bought a bottle of burgundy wine.

  Tom’s efforts to pay for their food and drink were politely—and rather firmly—rebuffed. Under other circumstances, he might have been offended. But Jenny was determined to embrace her newfound independence. He wouldn’t begrudge her the privilege.

  “I won’t be beholden to you,” she said. “It will only confuse things between us.”

  “At least allow me to carry this for you.” He lifted the second basket of food from her arms.

  A German gentleman complained loudly at the counter. “You have a nerve charging these prices for food of this quality. Is it any wonder Baedeker advises us to see to our own sustenance?”

  “Bradshaw’s made no mention of bringing our own food,” Jenny whispered as they exited the refreshment room.

  “An unfortunate oversight. We’ll have to remember it for the journey back.”

  “Much good that will do me. I may not be coming back.”

  Only six short words, but they were enough to knock the breath out of him. He couldn’t recover it, not even when Jenny’s hand came to rest on his arm.

  “Oh look, there’s Ahmad and Mira.” Jenny waved at the two servants. “I do hope they haven’t been too uncomfortable in second class.”

  Ahmad and Mira crossed the gaslit platform to meet them. They looked rumpled and tired, their faces drawn from lack of sleep.

  “I’ve bought a basket of food for you both,” Jenny said.

  Ahmad took one of the baskets from Tom’s arms and peered inside.

  “Thank you, madam,” Mira said.

  “Don’t thank me. I’d no idea we were meant to bring our own food along. Have you been very miserable? One of the porters said there was no water available on the train. And we all must sleep sitting bolt upright. Perhaps we should have—”

  “They’re fine,” Tom interrupted. “They’ve done this all before, remember?”

  Ahmad’s mouth pulled up at one corner, but he said nothing. He and his cousin had endured far worse conditions than those in a second-class railway car. Tom didn’t know every particular, but he knew enough to realize that their employment as servants to Jenny Holloway was something of a godsend for them. They’d never complain, least of all over some minor discomfort.

  “Come,” he said. “We all of us must get back on board. These tyrannical railway fellows have no qualms about leaving passengers behind.”

  The scream of the whistle gave truth to his statement, urging them all off in their separate directions up and down the platform, through the billows of steam. Tom and Jenny had no sooner entered their compartment and sunk into their seats than the train began to depart the station.

  “That was cutting it rather close,” he said.

  Jenny didn’t seem to hear him. She was immediately occupied with opening the basket she’d purchased. After a brief rummage about, she withdrew a hunk of bread and cheese, the quality of which could best be described as indifferent. Her nose wrinkled. “I thought French food was supposed to be superior to all others.”

  “Not the sort purchased at a railway buffet.”

  She took out a wrapped package of cold meat. “How very disappointing.”

  “Best accustom yourself to being disappointed. It’s the better part of travel, or so I understand.”

  “I don’t accept that. Nor should you. Just because you’ve had bad experiences with travel in the past doesn’t mean—”

  “I have no experiences with travel. I’ve been no farther from England than Le Havre. Didn’t I say so?”

  Jenny’s brows shot up. “You’re not serious.”

  “Is it so hard to believe?”

  “Well….yes,” she said with her characteristic frankness. “I was sure you were well traveled. At least as well traveled as Mr. Thornhill.”

  “Thornhill was a captain in Her Majesty’s Army. There’s no comparison.”

  “Yes, but…you said you wanted to look after me. To keep me safe. How can you when you don’t know anything more about India than I do?”

  “I know what Thornhill’s told me. And what I hear from my clients and read in the papers.”

  “That’s hardly enough.”

  “No,” he acknowledged. “What’s enough is the mere fact that I’m a man.”

  “Oh—!”

  “I know you don’t like to hear it, but it’s true. You’ll have an easier time of it now that I’m with you.” He uncorked the bottle of wine. “And I’ll have an easier time as well.”

  Her blue-green eyes kindled. “Men generally do.”

  “Undoubtedly. However, in this case, I’ll have an easier time of it because I can keep an eye on you. I won’t be stuck back in London, sitting in my office, imagining all of the dreadful things that might have happened to you had you ventured out on this adventure alone.”

  “And for this small peace of mind, you’re willing to upend your entire life and accompany me around the globe?”

  “Who said it was small? Besides, it’s not forever. I’ll have to return to London eventually.”

  “When?” she asked. “After we find out what happened to Giles?”

  “I don’t know.” It was the truth. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. For the first time in his life, he’d been impulsive. He hadn’t planned things out to the last degree. There’d been no time to strategize. No opportunity. All he’d known was that she was leaving and that he must do something. Anything.

  There were no pressing legal matters to constrain him. For years, the tortuous case between the Viscount Atwater and the Earl of Warren had formed the bulk of his practice. Now that it was settled at last, Tom’s immediate future was his own to do with as he wanted. And what he wanted was to be with Jenny.

  “So this journey with me is nothing but an interlude. A time
out of time. In other words, not part of your real life at all.”

  Tom’s hand stilled on the wine bottle.

  “But it’s part of my real life. Indeed, it’s just the beginning of it. I meant what I said about not coming back. If the mood strikes me, I may very well remain in India or Egypt or even here in France. Can’t you understand? I feel as though I’ve walked through a door. Until two days ago, I’d only ever caught glimpses of what lies beyond it. And now that I’m here—now that I’ve passed through to the other side—I can’t imagine ever going back to all that bleakness and misery.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way,” he said.

  “Perhaps not, but it’s how I feel about it.”

  “Why should you? You’re not a companion anymore. You’re a woman of means. There’d be nothing bleak about your settling in London or somewhere in the English countryside. Nothing miserable about remaining close to your friends.”

  “Haven’t you ever wanted a fresh start?”

  “One needn’t move thousands of miles away to start anew. Trust me, the world’s not that much brighter on this side of the door.”

  “Not to you. You’ve existed here your entire life.”

  “Not quite my entire life, but I take your meaning. You’re restless and dissatisfied. I won’t minimize such feelings. But I warn you, these far-off vistas you crave are likely nothing more than a mirage in the desert. They only dazzle when you view them at a distance. An unknown place in some distant land can’t undo the tragedies of the past. If it could, we’d all be travelers, spending our natural lives on steamer ships and trains.”

  “And yet,” she said, “my future is my own. My travel plans mine and nobody’s else’s. You won’t force me to return to England simply because it’s your idea of what’s right and proper.”

  “I’ve no intention of forcing you to do anything.”