“Do you think Mrs. Plank is telling the truth?” she asked. “Is India the same as an English village, with everyone knowing one another’s business?”
“In some places, I expect. Thornhill says the colonials have created British life in miniature. They keep themselves set apart, fraternizing with each other at their clubs, having dinners and dances and tea parties. It’s quite the social whirlwind, apparently.”
“What of the Indians?”
“He says there’s more prejudice against them in India than at home. Even more so after the uprising.”
“It was a great tragedy.”
“For all concerned—the oppressed and the oppressors.”
Jenny gave him a curious look. “You share Mr. Thornhill’s opinions?”
“On British rule in India? I tend to agree with him, yes. Does that surprise you?”
“Why should it? I’ve never been to India. I have no views on the subject one way or the other.”
“None at all?”
She ignored the smile in his voice. She wouldn’t apologize for being opinionated. “What do you wish me to say? That I abhor cruelty and unfairness, wherever it manifests itself? That I’d no more judge an Indian for rebelling than I would an Englishwoman? That we all of us have our God-given rights, even if the law doesn’t see fit to grant them to us?”
“The Mrs. Planks of the world would disagree.”
“I’ll wager you already know how I feel about the Mrs. Planks of the world.”
Tom laughed softly. “Here,” he said, stopping near the rail. “I brought something for you.”
She let go of his arm, watching as he reached into the pocket of his gray woolen topcoat. “What is it?”
He withdrew something and placed it in her palm, closing her fingers around it. It was round and firm, with pebbled skin.
Her lips tilted upward. “An orange!”
“One of the last we took on board at Malta.”
“Thank you, Tom. How very thoughtful.”
“Would you like me to section it for you?”
“I can manage.” She set to work at once. Within seconds, the fragrance of freshly peeled orange swirled deliciously about them. They shared the sections, eating them in contented silence as the sea breeze ruffled their hair. When they’d finished, Tom gave Jenny his linen handkerchief to clean her hands. “They’re very sticky,” she said.
“And very sweet.”
“Wonderfully sweet.” She handed him back his handkerchief as they resumed their walk. “I apologize for being greedy. I didn’t finish my dinner.”
“I noticed.”
“You notice everything.”
“An irritating habit of mine.” Tom thrust his hands into his pockets. “Jenny…”
“Yes?”
“You need to prepare yourself for the very real possibility that Giles is dead.”
Jenny’s spirits sank. The orange, it seemed, was only a bribe. A bit of sweetness to leaven the grim conversation to come. “I’m prepared enough.”
“Are you? It doesn’t appear so. The closer we get to India, the more often I see you distracted. Troubled.”
“If I am, it’s not over myself. It’s Helena that worries me.”
“What about her?”
“Isn’t it obvious? She wants to find him so badly. She’s never lost hope that he’s still out there somewhere. If we discover undeniable proof that he’s dead, she’ll be devastated. And when I think of all that she’s already endured—”
“None of which was your fault.”
“Of course not, but I saw what the loss of her brother did to her. It wasn’t right or fair. She’s one of the finest people I know. The first person I could truly call my friend. If I can repay her in some small way—”
“Lady Helena doesn’t expect repayment from you. She’d be offended at the very thought. She gave you an independence to set you free, not to put you in her debt.”
Jenny knew he was right. Even so… “I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t been hired as her companion. My life would have been so very different. She never intended to exact any payment from me, it’s true. She would, as you say, be appalled at the very idea of it. But I do owe her, Tom. I owe her everything. It’s both a blessing and a burden. You can’t imagine what it’s like.”
“Oh, can’t I?” He gave a short laugh. “Would you like to know how many times Alex Archer took a thrashing for me during my years in the orphanage? Or how many times Thornhill intervened when I was being bullied by the other boys? Without the pair of them to protect me, I daresay I might have died.”
Jenny stopped where she stood, turning to look at him. “What?”
He came to a reluctant halt, facing her. “I was the smallest and thinnest among us. Not strong enough to withstand the beatings and the deprivations.”
“They beat you?” She couldn’t conceal her dismay. “And what do you mean by deprivations? What were you deprived of?”
Tom said nothing for a long while. When he finally spoke, his voice was brusque. Businesslike. “It was food, mostly. Cheevers withheld it for the smallest infraction. He didn’t like children. He ran the orphanage only because Sir Oswald appointed him to the post. The entire enterprise was badly mismanaged. The bread moldy, the mattresses ridden with insects. The worst part—” He broke off, his jaw clenching. “The worst part was that Cheevers wouldn’t allow fires in the dormitories. During a particularly harsh winter, a boy froze to death in his bed. Many a night after that, I feared I would suffer the same fate.”
Emotion welled in Jenny’s chest. She felt her lips tremble. “Oh, Tom. I can’t imagine. It all sounds so horrible.” She touched his sleeve. “But you survived it. You made it through somehow.”
He shrugged. “Thornhill and Archer protected me. They protected Neville Cross as well, until he outgrew them both.”
“Helena says that Mr. Thornhill protects everyone in his care.”
“To the point of folly.”
“It sounds as though your friend Mr. Archer was the same.”
“He was,” Tom said. “And he wasn’t. He could be heroic when he chose. Even more heroic than Thornhill. The four of us used to climb down the cliffs at Abbot’s Holcombe. Thornhill, Archer, Cross, and me. One day, Cross slipped and fell into the sea.”
Jenny was familiar with the cliffs. They were some of the most treacherous in North Devon, only a smattering of rocky outcroppings breaking up what was otherwise a sheer, vertical drop into the sea. Mr. Cross’s fall from them as a boy had left him permanently damaged; slow of speech and prone to drifting off in his head in the midst of conversations.
“The weather was abysmal, the water churning like a maelstrom. Thornhill dove in, but he couldn’t find Cross in the water. In the end, it was Archer who saved him. To this day I still don’t know how he managed it. Raw courage and sheer strength of will, I imagine. Admirable qualities, to be sure. But there was a darkness in Archer, too. A selfishness that Thornhill never had.” Tom gave an eloquent grimace. “I don’t know how we arrived at this morbid subject.”
“We were talking about Giles. You told me I must prepare myself. But you’ve lost someone close to you just as surely as I have. I don’t see why we can’t share the burden.”
“The loss of Alex Archer is no burden to me.”
“You’re not troubled at all by the past?”
“Not any longer. Sir Oswald is dead. Cheevers is dead. The orphanage has been razed to the ground.” He gave her a long look. “It was I who bought the place. I who had it destroyed.”
“You must have hated the place.”
“Hate is a strong word. Suffice to say, I have a long memory. It’s much like your imagined debt to Lady Helena. Both a blessing and a burden. For many years I never forgave an injustice. I was somewhat ruthless when it came to balanc
ing the scales. And as for those men behind it all…”
The fine hairs rose on the back of Jenny’s neck. There was something in Tom’s eyes. An expression she couldn’t interpret. It chilled her to the bone. “I know that Sir Oswald fell from the cliffs one night outside the Abbey. The whole of the village still talks about it. There was an inquest, wasn’t there?”
“He’d been drinking to excess. His death was ruled an accident.”
She searched his face. “Was Mr. Cheevers’s death an accident, too?”
Tom’s mouth curled into a smile. A smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Quite the reverse. Unlike Sir Oswald, Leonard Cheevers met his end very much on purpose.”
There was nothing to laugh about when it came to the memory of Leonard Cheevers. And yet, at the horrified look on Jenny’s face, Tom felt his lips twitch. Good lord, did she think he’d murdered the man? “He was hanged, Jenny. Arrested, sentenced, and hanged in the public square.”
She did a creditable job of hiding her relief. “On what charge?”
“Something to do with stolen property.”
“And for that he was executed?”
Ah. And there was the crux of it. “It was a discretionary sentence. The judge might have pardoned him if he wished, but given Cheevers’s long history of villainy…” Tom shrugged.
Her brows knit. “Did you have anything to do with it?”
“Very little. I merely submitted a few facts about Cheevers’s character to the judge before sentence was pronounced.”
Understanding dawned slowly in her eyes. “One of your very persuasive legal documents.”
Tom stared down at her. “You sound disappointed in me.”
“Not disappointed, no. Just…” She looked at him as though she were trying to solve a puzzle. “Did you feel better afterward? After he was dead?”
“I didn’t feel any worse.”
“Don’t be flippant.”
“It was a long time ago, Jenny. Over a decade.”
“But you have a long memory. You said so yourself. You can’t have forgotten.”
Tom ran a hand over the back of his neck. “No,” he said at last. “I didn’t feel any better. The man’s death changed nothing. How could it? His crimes were in the past. There’s no way to undo them. No way to go back. All I can do is go forward.”
She continued to gaze up at him. As if she were waiting for something.
He didn’t plan to kiss her. When he’d attempted to do so on the Valetta, it had very nearly exposed her to gossip. He’d promised himself then that he’d keep a respectful distance. It wasn’t worth the risk, neither to his sanity nor her reputation. And yet…
As he stood on the Indus, the deck rolling beneath his booted feet and the crisp sea air ruffling his hair, his good intentions all melted away. He didn’t want to talk about the past. Not when there were stars and moonlight and the sound of lapping waves.
Not when there was her.
He bent his head and kissed her very softly on the mouth. She tasted of oranges. Sweet and warm and citrus tart. She swayed against him, her hand still clutching his sleeve. Their breath mingled, their half-parted lips clinging for a long moment.
And Tom felt it everywhere, surging in his blood and pounding in his heart. This was no ordinary kiss. No dutiful bus on the cheek or chaste peck under the mistletoe. This was a kiss. The kiss to end all kisses. Rich with meaning and trembling with tenderness. It robbed him of breath. Set his entire body alight.
Jenny must have felt it, too. Her hand found its way to his neck, her fingers curling into the hair at his nape.
He circled his arms around her waist to steady her, holding her so close that her heavy skirts swirled all about his legs. Every fiber of his being told him to keep kissing her. Lord knew he wanted to. Indeed, for several throbbing moments, it seemed the single most important occupation of his entire life.
But good sense ultimately prevailed. It had to.
He pulled back, just as he had on the Valetta. “We shouldn’t—”
“No.” Her hand fell from his hair. “You’re right.”
“Forgive me, I didn’t look about first. We might have been observed.” He cast a belated glance around the deck. “I don’t see anyone. Not now, anyway.”
Jenny’s face was flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses. She looked a bit dazed. A bit breathless. As if she didn’t quite know where she was.
Tom had no doubt he appeared equally affected. His pulse was still struggling to regain its normal rhythm. “Jenny—”
“Please don’t apologize again, Tom. It isn’t very nice to have someone beg your pardon every time they embrace you.”
“I wasn’t going to beg your pardon. I was going to try and explain—”
“You needn’t. It’s all perfectly plain.”
“I don’t believe it is.” He took her hand and tucked it through his arm. “Let’s walk, shall we?”
Jenny permitted him to guide her back out along the deck. There were sailors and stewards in the distance, passengers laughing, and even a fiddle player perched somewhere below. The jaunty notes of a Scotch reel drifted up into the night, as out of place on an Egyptian-bound steamer as they were to the seriousness of what Tom had to say.
“On the Valetta, you told me about the sort of woman you didn’t wish to be, do you remember? Neither powerless wife, nor ridiculous spinster.”
“Of course I remember.”
“I have a similar quandary. A sort of a man I never wish to become.” He voice was quiet and—considering the erratic thumping of his heart—surprisingly steady. “In the orphanage I grew up surrounded by unwanted children, all products of liaisons between irresponsible men and desperate women. Men like Sir Oswald who used women, often against their will. And women like my mother, poor and ignorant, who gave in to the blandishments of men, hoping they might provide them with affection or some manner of security.”
He felt Jenny’s eyes upon him, but he didn’t return her gaze.
“You often lament the fact that men hold all the power. And you’re right. They do. Power in law and power in strength. I may not have been born a gentleman, but I resolved long ago that I would never use that power to take advantage of a woman. I promised myself I’d be better than that. That I’d never do to anyone what was done to my mother or the mothers of Thornhill, Archer, and Cross.”
Jenny’s hand tightened on his arm, pulling him to a halt.
He at last turned to look at her. Their eyes met in the flickering light of an oil lamp that hung overhead. “The closest I’ve come to breaking that promise has been with you. I’m here now, a part of your adventure, only because I gave you no choice. I forced my company on you, as careless of your feelings as any brute. When it came to the point, my principles couldn’t withstand my desire to be near you. They crumbled at the first test.” He gave a humorless laugh. “So much for principles.”
“Oh, Tom. It wasn’t like that at all.”
“It was. And each time I take you in my arms, I’m reminded—”
“It hasn’t all been one-sided. Surely you know that.”
“I do, and I thank God for it, but it doesn’t change how I’ve wronged you.” He regarded her steadily. “I want you to know that I’m sorry—truly sorry—that I didn’t respect your wishes at Dover. But I can’t be sorry I’m here. Being with you on this journey…I wish I could say I was sorry for that, but I can’t. If I did, it would be a lie. And I won’t lie to you, Jenny.”
Her mouth curved in a rueful smile. “We’ve become a pair of liars during this journey, haven’t we? I daresay we shall have to make some sort of penance for it when we return to England.”
Tom’s heart stopped in his breast. When they returned to England. Not if, when.
But Jenny didn’t appear to register the import of what she’d said. She continued on
as if she hadn’t just upended his world once more. “You’re right. I didn’t want you to come. I only ever envisioned this adventure as happening to me alone. It never occurred to me that I might have a companion. Someone to share it all with.”
“It wasn’t part of your dream.”
“No.”
“Which is why I find it so difficult…Knowing that we’re only here together because I drew a net around you and trapped you.” It was the very way she’d described his actions on the train to Marseilles. And she’d been right. It was exactly what he’d done to her. “How can you ever get past such a breach of trust?”
“Quite easily,” she said. “I can accept your apology. And I can forgive you.”
A spasm of emotion contracted his throat. “Jenny…”
“You see? It’s not difficult at all.”
Tom bowed his head, his forehead coming to rest lightly against hers. Her forgiveness was a gift he hadn’t expected—and probably didn’t deserve. He couldn’t understand how she gave it so freely. Life, as he knew it, was built on long-held grudges. The notion that the slate could ever be wiped clean was foreign to him.
He wanted to ask her how she could do it. How she could absolve him for ruining her plans. For forcing himself into her adventure.
But Jenny, being Jenny, anticipated that, too.
“It’s true,” she confessed, her voice sinking to a whisper. “In the beginning, you weren’t part of my dream. But now…” She touched his cheek. “I couldn’t imagine any of this without you.”
Alexandria, Egypt
March, 1860
Jenny stood on the deck of the Indus, watching the ancient city of Alexandria come into view. The weather had turned warmer. It was still nothing like the baking heat she imagined in India, but it was warm enough that most of the other passengers had come up on deck to join her. Some were still bundled up against the cold. Others were already garbed in their muslins and linens.
As for herself, she’d dressed in her black caraco jacket and skirt, a wide-brimmed straw hat pinned to her rolled and plaited coiffure.
A Modest Independence Page 14