Jenny couldn’t imagine what would be so powerful as to draw the remaining boys back to the cliffs after their friend had been so grievously injured. “Was it because of Sir Oswald? Because you’d discovered he was Mr. Thornhill’s father?”
“In the beginning, yes. But that wasn’t our only motivation for braving the cliffs.” The corner of Tom’s mouth quirked wryly. “There are ghost stories about the Abbey. Just the sort of nonsense to appeal to young boys. You must have heard them.”
She grimaced. “In all their infinite variations.” It was difficult not to when one was residing in the very house that featured in the local legends. “Helena mentioned vengeful pirate ghosts and smugglers’ treasure. And one of the serving girls in the village said something about mad monks and papists’ gold.”
“There are dozens more, each version a little different. Ancient structures like the Abbey often inspire such tales. But in this case, all the old stories have one thing in common.”
Realization dawned slowly in Jenny’s brain. When it came, it left her almost speechless. “The treasure?”
“The treasure,” Tom concurred.
“Do you mean to say there really was such a thing?”
“I never believed it myself, not even as a boy. It was merely a dream. A childish fancy. And then, one day, not long after Cross’s accident, Archer and I rowed to the Abbey. Thornhill wasn’t with us. He was keeping vigil at Cross’s bed.”
“What did you do?”
“The usual mischief. We went down to the storerooms. We’d been digging there for some time already. But this time, we didn’t dig. Archer saw a loose stone in the wall. It gave us the idea to start checking all of the loose stones.”
“You don’t mean to say you found something?”
“We did, much to our astonishment.”
“Well?” she prompted him. “What was it?”
“A rotted leather pouch with one hundred pounds in gold coins inside of it.”
“One hundred pounds!”
“A king’s ransom, or so it seemed to us. And that wasn’t all. There was some jewelry in the pouch as well. An old ruby ring and a diamond pendant. Very old, if the cut of the stones are as I remember.” His thumb moved over the back of her hand, idly stroking her skin. “I was ecstatic, of course. Right away, I began planning our futures. We’d leave the orphanage. Buy ourselves new clothes, procure passage on the mail coach, and go to London. And we’d eat whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted. None of us would ever go hungry again.”
Her mouth curved in a smile. “It sounds a reasonable plan.”
“I thought so. Archer saw it differently. He didn’t want me to tell anyone. Not yet. He asked me to wait a week until he’d decided what to do.”
“He thought it his decision alone?”
“I don’t believe he thought anything. The moment we opened that pouch, he lost all sense of proportion. I think it scared him to suddenly have so much money in his grasp. I told him we must bring it back with us, but he refused. When I tried to take it, he hit me. And he kept hitting me until I let it go. Until I promised I wouldn’t say a word to the others.” Tom’s expression hardened at the memory. “My God, but I hated him in that moment. He’d never before used his strength against me. Two days later, when Fothergill came to the orphanage, I was still seething with rage. He asked me who was responsible for my injuries and I wouldn’t tell him. Within the week, he’d taken me away to London.”
“Why on earth didn’t you say anything?”
“I’d given Archer my word to keep silent on the subject. I’d promised him a week. After that…I suppose I could have told Thornhill and Cross, but by then it was too late.” Tom met her gaze, his own eyes weary. “Archer didn’t just disappear, Jenny. He disappeared with the money. He took it for himself, Thornhill’s and Cross’s one chance at freedom and security. How could I ever tell them what he’d done? What I’d let him do?”
“Has Mr. Thornhill no idea?”
“No.” Tom shook his head. “Thornhill believes in loyalty above all things. The betrayal would break his heart.”
“And what of your heart?”
He gave her a smile that was as weary as his eyes. “Bruised, but not broken. I had Fothergill and the promise of a profession. It was Thornhill and Cross who were left behind.”
“You can’t blame yourself.”
“Can’t I?”
“You were a boy. An honest boy trying to honor your promise to a friend.”
“Alex Archer was my friend. My best friend, I daresay. He was also selfish and desperate—a dangerous combination, as my nose can attest.”
Jenny leaned closer to him, her words a soft suggestion. “You should tell Mr. Thornhill.”
“To what purpose?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do. And because there are some secrets that shouldn’t be kept. It’s a burden on your conscience. Such things weigh heavily after a time.”
“You speak from experience?”
“Hardly. I haven’t any secrets worth telling.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, echoing her earlier words to him.
She laughed. “Truly I haven’t. Ask me anything you like. You’ll see.”
Tom regarded her for a moment, his expression solemn. And then his gaze dropped down her throat to the bare expanse of skin above the scooped bodice of her dinner dress. “Do you always wear that necklace?”
Her smile faded, her free hand moving reflexively to touch the gold chain at her neck. “Yes.”
“Any particular reason?”
“It belonged to my mother.”
“Ah. I see.” His eyes met hers. “It means something to you.”
Jenny privately cursed herself for an idiot. What had she been thinking to open herself up to Tom’s questions? He was the most observant man she’d ever met. A man trained to identify the chinks in his adversaries’ armor. Had she truly believed, even for a moment, that he’d fail to notice her own vulnerabilities?
“Yes, it does. But that’s not why I wear it.” Her fingers threaded through the end of the chain. “There used to be a pendant. Just here. An emerald medallion. It was passed down in my family from mother to daughter for generations. On my mother’s death, it came to me. It was the only piece of jewelry she owned. The only thing she had to leave me save her childhood Bible.”
Tom didn’t press her to say any more. He only listened, his gaze holding hers as gently as he held her hand.
“My father was dreadful with the accounts. We were always behind on something, always coming up short. The winter before I left to become Helena’s companion it was the worst. He’d spent the last of the housekeeping money on drink again. The tradesmen were threatening to summon the bailiffs. And the church was making noises about taking away the vicarage. I daresay it was the latter that frightened him. Being a vicar is his only measure of respectability. Without that…” Her shoulder lifted in a faint shrug. “Of course, he decided that something must be done to wipe the slate clean. And being the head of the family—and a man who, by law, had rights over me and my property…”
“He sold the medallion.”
Her stomach tightened with nausea, just as it always did at the memory. “He knew how much it meant to me. How it was all I had left of her. But none of it mattered. My feelings didn’t matter. My mother didn’t matter. He simply took it from me and…I couldn’t do anything. Not to stop him, and not to get it back after it was gone.”
“I’m sorry,” Tom said.
“Don’t be. It’s an all-too-common tale. There are countless women who have been similarly treated by their husbands and fathers. In any case, I still managed to keep the necklace. It’s not very valuable. Not in terms of money. But it did belong to my mother.”
“Is that why you wear it? To remember her by?”
“I wear it to remind myself what it feels like to be powerless. I don’t ever wish to feel that way again. And I won’t,” she vowed. “Not so long as I live.” She gave his hand one last squeeze. “Are you satisfied now?”
“That depends. Have you any other secrets I should know about?”
“The rest will have to wait. We’ve dinner to get to. And I still haven’t arranged my hair.”
He at last relinquished her hand. She rose from the berth and crossed back to the basin stand, where she swiftly plaited her hair in sections and twisted it into a roll at her nape. The coiffure took mere minutes to achieve, her hands manipulating her tresses with practiced skill. When she’d finished, she looked at him over her shoulder as she secured the last pin. He was watching her, his countenance solemn.
“What is it?” she asked.
His lips twisted into a humorless smile. “I’m memorizing you.”
Jenny’s heart contracted. But she refused to give in to the brooding melancholy that had lately overtaken Tom’s spirits. Yes, they must part eventually. That had always been the plan. Until then, she wouldn’t succumb to sorrow.
And she wouldn’t let him succumb, either.
“There’s no need.” And then, with a smile, “Our adventure together isn’t quite over yet.”
Calcutta, India
March, 1860
The Bentinck reached the Port of Calcutta two days later, exactly as the captain had promised. Jenny stood on the spar deck, the heat of the morning sun blazing down upon her as the ship navigated the murky, vegetation-filled waters of the Hooghly River.
She’d read that Calcutta was known as the City of Palaces and she could certainly see why. The river was lined with elegant mansions and grand, dome-topped buildings. The largest sported a figure of Britannia atop it. She was holding a spear in her fist, as if to announce her supremacy over the city to all who ventured near.
There was no sign of any humbler sort of native dwellings made of mud or bamboo. Not from this side of the Hooghly, at least. The view from the ship was all European wealth and luxury. Only the harbor gave a true glimpse of the city’s character. It was a hive of industry, crowded with people of all descriptions.
As the Bentinck drew closer, Jenny saw scantily clad Indian gentlemen in small boats, rowing out to meet the docking ships. Some came to assist with transporting luggage and passengers. Others were washermen, come to collect the dirty linen, or peddlers seeking to sell their wares.
Exotic sights and sounds abounded. It was impossible to become used to such things. Nevertheless, since their departure from Suez, the element of wonder with which Jenny had first beheld the sights of Egypt had largely been replaced by a quieter appreciation. She’d seen so many things during their voyage. Pearl divers off the coast of Ceylon when they’d stopped to take on coal. Dolphins leaping out of the water in the Bay of Bengal. And an islet near the mouth of the Hooghly inhabited entirely by alligators.
Indian men of all ages bathed in the river, and Indian women draped in colorfully printed cloth carried baskets in their arms as they traversed the water’s edge with their children.
All of this—from bejeweled merchants to shouting donkey drivers—set against the ever-increasing heat that had come to replace the cool sea breezes they’d enjoyed when they’d first departed Egypt.
Perspiration dotted Jenny’s brow and trickled down the back of her neck. She was envious of the Indians and their sparse clothing. The lightest garment she’d brought with her was a linen day dress; however, once paired with her corset, petticoats, and crinoline, it wasn’t light at all. She resolved to purchase new gowns while they were in Calcutta. Without lighter clothing, she’d never bear the heat during the train journey to Delhi.
“That’s Fort William,” Mrs. Plank said, coming to stand at her side. The angle of her lace parasol cast a lattice-work shadow over her face. “When the sepoys rebelled, the British residents were forced to hide inside to escape the slaughter.”
Jenny stiffened. She’d thought herself quite alone. “Were they?” Her gaze drifted over the city, taking in the elegant fortress-like structure and the equally grand, Grecian-style buildings along the riverside. The latter were ornamented with colonnades and verandahs, more like princely homes of Europe than Indian villas. “It’s difficult to imagine.”
“Were you expecting something more exotic?” Mrs. Plank asked.
“I had no expectation. Every aspect of this journey has been a surprise to me.”
“Your first trip away from England, isn’t it?” Mrs. Plank gave Jenny a smile that was almost feline. “Your brother said you’d only recently come up from Devon.”
Jenny’s skin prickled. She had the vague sense that Mrs. Plank was baiting her. “I did, ma’am. In preparation for traveling with him to India.”
“Then this is all new to you.”
“It is.”
“Allow me to offer some advice.”
Jenny inwardly sighed. She’d known something of this nature was coming. She’d met enough old-cattish matrons like Mrs. Plank during her time as Helena’s companion. They loved nothing better than issuing dire warnings to ladies they deemed less fortunate than themselves. She steeled herself for the worst.
“Calcutta is not as vast as it appears,” Mrs. Plank said in confidential tones. “We all of us socialize with each other. It will not be long before your liaison with Mr. Finchley is common knowledge.”
Jenny’s body went still as stone. She continued to stare out at the docks, her stomach trembling as if Mrs. Plank had dealt her a physical blow. It was worse than she’d expected. Far worse. But she refused to give Mrs. Plank the satisfaction of knowing how thoroughly she’d rattled her. “You are mistaken, ma’am.”
“I don’t believe I am, Miss Holloway. Last month, when I came upon the pair of you on the deck of the ship we took to Malta, I’m certain you’d been embracing.”
“There’s nothing untoward about a sister embracing her brother.”
“Come, my girl. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Only a fool would believe you were his sister. If you care for him at all, you will take my advice and leave Calcutta before the scandal of your conduct touches on his reputation. He may yet still make a success of it out here. But with you at his side, he is sure to be shunned from polite society.”
“I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play the innocent with me, dear. Do you think I’m the only one who’s noticed? Mrs. Hardcastle saw him leaving your cabin only two days past and my own daughter observed him kissing your hand on the promenade.”
Jenny inhaled a steadying breath before turning on Mrs. Plank. As a lady’s companion, she’d been obliged to tolerate the barbs of such women. She’d bitten her tongue time and again, never once allowing her anger to get the better of her.
But she wasn’t a lady’s companion anymore.
“These are grievous sins, to be sure,” she said.
Mrs. Plank’s bosom swelled. “Can a woman in your position afford to be glib on the subject of her own honor?”
“My honor is unblemished. I haven’t engaged in any indiscretions, nor have I been spending my time spying on the private moments of others.”
“Spying! Why, I—”
“You should be ashamed, madam. I realize your daughter has set her cap for my brother, but threatening me with your evil gossip is no way to advance her suit. You may believe me when I say that he would as soon die a bachelor than join his future to that of a family of gossipmongers and sneaks.”
Mrs. Plank’s face went white as milk. For an instant, Jenny feared the woman would either faint dead away or commence some sort of apoplectic fit. She did neither. Instead, she drew herself up to her full height. “How dare you? You impudent, brazen—”
“I beg your pardon, ladies.”
Jenny turned with a start to
find Tom standing at her right shoulder. She’d been too caught up in her disagreement with Mrs. Plank to hear his approach. How long had he been there? How much had he overheard?
It was impossible to tell from his expression. He merely stood there, looking perfectly at ease in a suit of lightweight cloth. The chain of his pocket watch glimmered in the sunlight.
“Mr. Finchley,” Mrs. Plank spat. “Your sister has insulted my daughter and myself most grievously. You will understand if I withdraw my invitation for you to stay with us in Delhi. This woman’s presence would not be welcome under any circumstances.” She gave a stiff inclination of her head. “Good day to you, sir.”
Tom’s gaze followed Mrs. Plank as she sailed off in the direction of the stairs that led belowdecks.
“I should have held my tongue,” Jenny said. “She’ll tell everyone now.”
“Tell them what?”
“That I insulted her. That I—” She suppressed a groan. “That I said you’d sooner die a bachelor than marry her daughter.”
Tom’s mouth hitched. “Yes, I heard that part.”
“I trust you didn’t have any intentions toward Miss Plank? If so, I regret to inform you that I’ve just damaged your prospects with the girl beyond repair.”
All traces of amusement faded from Tom’s face. “What did that woman say to you?”
“That everyone knows I’m not your sister. That, if I cared for you, I would leave you here in Calcutta before I damage your reputation beyond repair.”
“Like hell you will.”
Jenny looked out at the city, scarcely registering the impropriety of Tom’s language—or the vehemence of his tone. The captain had commenced the arduous process of docking the ship. Soon the little boats would arrive to take them to shore. And then…
“Gossip about us can’t spread any further, Tom. Not here in India. If it does, we’ll have no hope of being received anywhere. And then how are we to go about finding Giles?”
A Modest Independence Page 19