by Susanne Lord
A moment of contemplative silence passed before Emma said, “I wonder how Mr. Mayhew is faring.”
Mina smiled, squeezing Emma’s hand. “If Mr. Mayhew were an animal, he might be an elephant.”
“While my Colin Rivers would be that neckless hyena,” Emma said. “The one with the mange.”
Mina eyed her sister. “I had not wanted to broach the subject of Mr. Rivers but—”
“Then why are you?”
She started carefully. “You threw your hairbrush at the mirror this morning.”
Emma shrugged. “My hair has been impossible. The humidity is provoking.”
“And the hotel deskman?”
“He knows how anxious I am. Why must I queue each and every time to inquire after my letters?”
“Because—”
“And why are you broaching the matter? You are not yet engaged and it’s been eight days. You might keep your concern for your own marriage.”
Her own—That stung, but Mina kept her tongue between her teeth. Emma knew very well matters were not as simple as all that. Not when so much hinged on the absent Colin Rivers.
But of all her sisters, Emma had the quickest temper—
“I’m sorry,” Emma mumbled. “I’m horrid.”
And the shortest-lived one. “No, you’re distressed.”
Emma swatted at the netting of her hat. “What if he does not come, Mina?”
Swallowing the usual panic that question bred, Mina kept her voice calm. “Then I will speak to Thomas.”
“He won’t want his wife’s sister in their home.”
“Then we begin again, that’s all. We find two new bachelors living in the same district.”
“But if Mr. Rivers—”
“We must give him a reasonable amount of time, and no longer.”
“A month more?”
Poor Emma. She cared for her letter-writing beau more than she would admit. “A fortnight, I think.”
Emma fell silent, her gaze on the ladies strolling with the Company men ahead of them. “I know you’re right. The best bachelors have already been claimed. I just wonder… Mr. Rivers did pay my bond to sail. And we are contracted to marry. Is a fortnight a fair amount of time?”
“Could you bear to wait longer?”
“No…I suppose not,” Emma said quietly.
“And we cannot afford to wait, Emma.” Mina didn’t want to frighten her younger sister, so she said this as lightly and as simply as she could. That always seemed to work best.
A quiet moment passed before Emma spoke. “I heard Mr. Rivers sent his last communication from a post in the Upper Mekong River Valley.”
Surprised, Mina looked at her sister. “Who told you that?”
“Alice. Yesterday, Sarah said that Vicky heard the news from the wife of a director.”
“How long ago was the letter sent?”
“Months ago. He’s drawn funds from his accounts since, but no one has seen or heard from him.” Emma stared at the ground. “Do you think something’s wrong, Mina? They tell me that region is dangerous, the borderland between Tibet and China.”
The borderland…where the massacre occurred. Where Georgiana Mayhew had traveled. “I don’t know, Emma.”
“He did write lovely letters,” Emma said softly.
Mina linked arms with her sister.
“Mina.” Emma tugged her arm to gain her attention. “What’s the difference between an Indian elephant and an African one?”
“I don’t know.”
“About three thousand miles.”
Mina stared at Emma. “Goodness. Was that a joke?”
Emma’s blue eyes glinted with the faintest humor—a valiant humor. She hugged Emma’s arm. They would stay together. She had not sailed all this way to abandon another sister.
They continued their walk, slowly pacing after their party as they neared the monkey cages.
Mina checked her timepiece. Where was Thomas?
“He’s just late,” Emma said, guessing her thoughts. “Thomas has much to do with Mr. Mayhew.”
“Yes.” Would Thomas bring Mr. Mayhew? Did she want him to? Part of her wished to believe she and Thomas would be engaged by now without the distraction of Seth Mayhew. That Thomas’s attention would be hers, and he would promise to shelter Emma because there would be such an understanding between them that there would be no need for her to plead for her sister.
And yet the other part desperately wanted a happy ending for Mr. Mayhew and for Georgiana.
A happy ending for them all.
“I think that is why Thomas has not made his offer,” Emma continued. “He knows he has neglected you these first days.”
“Perhaps it’s better he has not. Not without Colin Rivers secured.”
“I think that makes him a very superior sort of gentleman, Mina, allowing us this time to wait.”
She wasn’t at all convinced of his motivation. “Yes, he’s very”—what?—“pragmatic.”
Emma frowned but smoothed her countenance immediately. “Then he is perfect for you. Two such pragmatic, managing people—”
“I’m not managing.”
“—it hardly seems fair. You ought to marry a complete wastrel and rehabilitate him.”
“And if our children resemble the wastrel?”
“Then you will rehabilitate them, too. You always did take care of everyone. Not that Thomas will ever need such help.”
The words struck Mina cold. That was true. She would be a resourceful, economical wife.
To a man who required one.
They wandered nearer the monkey exhibit, lingering behind their friends who strolled with Company men. Would the ladies remember to ask after Georgiana Mayhew today? She would have to remind them again. Perhaps she might meet some of the gentlemen herself?
“You do like him, don’t you, Mina?”
“Yes, of course. Mr. Mayhew is very likable.”
Emma slowed her step. “I was speaking of Thomas.”
Oh…stupid. “Yes, of course. I like Thomas as well.”
Emma raised a brow and waited.
Well, what matter if she knew? Mina sighed. “It is just…sometimes I have the strangest feeling with Thomas. He doesn’t seem willing to take me into his confidence at all. It’s as if he were already claimed by another.” She reached for the pebble in her pocket, the stone’s smooth contour so familiar. “If we wed, we need to be friends, companions. It doesn’t matter if he loves me but—”
“Mina!”
Emma’s admonishment was immediate, but there was no conviction behind it. And that broke Mina’s heart. Because Emma knew it was the truth.
“We left our sisters, Emma. Our home. Love doesn’t matter.” She squeezed Emma’s arm. “We learned that dearly from Mary, didn’t we?”
Emma’s eyes clouded with sadness. Ahead, the ladies giggled at something one of the gentlemen said, and Emma leveled her chin. “One week, Mina. Not two.”
Mina understood. There was only ever one man on Emma’s mind—for all the turmoil he was causing. Colin Rivers had one week to reach Bombay.
Tears pricked her eyes and she turned to hide her face. Emma might possess the quickest temper in the family, but she also possessed the most rigid code of right and wrong. Even if Mr. Rivers returned before Wednesday next, she might never forgive him this offense.
“India is a large country,” Emma said. “Full of Englishmen desperate for English brides. Whomever one of us chooses, wherever he lives, there will be an available gentleman for the other.”
“Yes.” Everything will be all right. Mina knew that.
When she was feeling brave, she even believed that.
“We are falling behind.” Emma nudged her forward.
“Yes—” She cut off at the sight
of two men walking toward them. Thomas and Mr. Mayhew. The men had their heads together as they approached, their expressions serious. Still in the midst of their planning, then. Recognizing them in their hats would have been difficult if not for Mr. Mayhew’s broad shoulders and long, easy stride.
Thomas wore a crisp pith helmet that was the very picture of British India. And Mr. Mayhew, in his safari hat and slim, low-slung trousers—Oh, honestly. She ought to be able to look at the man without her body heating so stupidly.
But evidently she had wanted Thomas to bring Mr. Mayhew. She’d had no assurance he would come, and as invulnerable as he appeared, not knowing what his sister might be enduring had to be awful.
Mina shook off her reverie and smiled at Thomas, her future husband—God willing.
“Good afternoon, Mina.” Thomas nodded to Emma. “Emma.”
“I’m so pleased you were able to join us,” Mina said. Mr. Mayhew doffed his hat and stood back, a small smile on his lips. “And how have you been, Mr. Mayhew?”
“Sadder than the tears of a puppy without the sight of you, Miss Mina.”
Her cheeks warmed, but in her relief in seeing him, she didn’t mind. “Really, Mr. Mayhew, you will swell my head. You must stop your flattery.”
“Yes, Mayhew,” Thomas said dryly. “Stop.”
Mr. Mayhew nodded to Emma. “Miss Emma, aren’t you looking well?”
Emma beamed, her cheeks blushing. “Oh, thank you, Mr. May—”
“What’s this little monkey, then?” Mr. Mayhew turned to peer into the cage. “A gray langur? Looks like my Uncle Fred except his side-whiskers are a bit tidier. The monkey’s, I mean.”
Emma deflated without a better compliment of her own.
No, Mina did not understand men at all. Emma was the most beautiful of all her sisters. Mr. Mayhew’s flirtation was as disordered as his conversation. And already, he was studying the party of Company men.
“Tom, know any of the gents up there?” he asked.
A look of surprise flashed across Thomas’s face. “The one with the beard. Turnbull’s his name. He’s usually in Calcutta. He’s secretary to the agriculture board of directors.”
“An important gentleman, then,” Mina said.
“He’d have access to information of Georgiana’s crew.” Thomas held Seth’s eye. “We were in Calcutta together for that unpleasant bit of time. I’m not the man to make an introduction.”
Confused, Mina waited for an explanation, but Mr. Mayhew simply nodded, rocking on his heels. The man seemed to constantly be in motion. He dipped his head down to hers. “Who’s that lady with him, Miss Mina?”
A warm fragrance of shaving soap enveloped her. He really had to stop talking in her ear like this. “That is Amelia Radcliffe. She knows of Georgiana. She was at the Byculla Club that night.”
He nodded, his eyes sharp and intent on the company ahead, and she tensed with excitement for his opportunity. But when he turned to meet her gaze, his sea-green eyes crinkled warmly and all he said was, “That hat is awfully becoming on you, Minnie.”
The words were too low for anyone else to hear but she blushed to the roots of her hair. “You are a terrible flirt, Mr. Mayhew,” she whispered.
He grinned and straightened from her, and she concentrated on cooling her heated face—which was impossible, as he wouldn’t look away. “Emma and I visited the shops on Rampart Row this morning. Our sola topees, that is what they call sun hats here, were recommended. As were these tinted glasses for the sun.”
“But how will I see those pretty brown eyes?”
“Look, Seth, a baboon,” Thomas said dryly.
Mr. Mayhew winked at her. “Got no time for monkeys, Tom.” And without another word, he fitted his hat and strode in the direction of the Company men.
Thomas wiped a weary hand over his face. That was a habit of his, then.
“Do you think Mr. Turnbull might help?” she asked.
Tom sighed. “I’m not hopeful.”
“But how could anyone refuse to help him?” Emma said, sounding decidedly smitten.
“He has no real connections,” Thomas said, not understanding that was meant as a rhetorical question. Absently, he offered Mina his arm, and she took it with a smile that he did not notice. “And worst of all, many Company men have secured their brides in the days since the shikar and feel no need to honor their promises to lend aid.”
It took her a moment to comprehend, then anger spiked in her. “Who has not?”
Thomas’s brows rose with mild amusement at the question. “Shall I provide a list?”
“A list?” she breathed in horror. How could Thomas smile at a time like this? “There are so many?”
“Well—”
“Then, yes, a list would serve,” she said. “Emma and I can inform their fiancées of their conduct and inconstancy.”
“Indeed.” Emma huffed. “Are they men, or are they weathercocks?”
“Well…uh,” Thomas stammered in the face of two, suddenly indignant women. “I suppose I could write up that list.”
“Today, Thomas,” Emma demanded pointedly.
“If you please,” Mina added, in apology for Emma’s passion.
“Yes, of course,” he murmured.
Frustration simmered just beneath her skin. Thomas should not be so cavalier. And those so-called gentlemen…she would never understand men.
“Mayhew’s made progress elsewhere,” Thomas said, his tone placating. “He’s been interviewing many of the locals who’ve accompanied British and French expeditions before. He’s secured quite an impressive crew if the day comes to leave India.”
Mina tensed. “Could that happen soon?”
“There is not much more we—he—can accomplish in Bombay.” Thomas looked straight ahead.
We.
The plummet of her stomach broke Mina’s stride. She gripped the pebble in her skirt pocket till the rough edges left her palm throbbing.
Coward! Thomas did not say he was leaving.
But it was time. She must speak to him today about Emma, about their future, as it seemed unlikely he ever would. She notched her chin higher.
They strolled in silence behind Mr. Mayhew as he paced beside Amelia. He flashed his smile at the lady, and she dipped her head subtly. But the quick turn of Amelia’s head invited no familiarity and Mr. Mayhew did not press. He took off his hat and raked a hand through his hair, doggedly trailing the men who ignored him.
Horrid, horrid East India men.
Her heart ached for him, for herself, for Emma, but she could not afford to act defeated. Thomas was the man she needed to marry. Especially if Colin Rivers returned.
She forced her gaze back to him and smiled. “Have you ever seen a rhinoceros, Thomas? Emma and I laughed because—”
“No,” Thomas groaned.
Mina stiffened at the blunt word, but Thomas’s attention was not on her. Mr. Mayhew had sidled up to Secretary Turnbull, who was pointing out the baby warthogs to Amelia.
Mr. Mayhew leaned on the railing in front of the cages, and crossed an ankle behind him. The wide vee of his back and muscled backside quickly caught the admiring glances of the women and stirred the men into all manner of fidgety posturing.
Oh no. Masculine wiles.
Poor Mr. Mayhew. He really had no idea how to conduct himself with this company.
Mr. Mayhew grinned and said something to Secretary Turnbull, but the man merely arched a superior brow and turned his back.
Vile man. Why did Thomas not do something? Why didn’t Amelia?
As if hearing her silent scold, Amelia whispered in her gentleman’s ear. He patted Amelia’s hand and then turned to Mr. Mayhew. The men shook hands and wandered a few feet to converse. Thank goodness. Perhaps there would be help today after all.
“Forgive me, Mina.”
Thomas smiled down at her, his attention restored. “I was distracted.”
She dragged her gaze from the scene and focused on Thomas. She smiled into her own reflection in his spectacles.
They walked and talked. The conversation was easy, but not at all one of intimate acquaintance. Ahead, Mr. Mayhew finished his discussion with Secretary Turnbull, but when he saw her and Thomas walking arm in arm, he pulled low the brim of his hat and turned, sauntering in front of them.
Would he not rejoin them?
“…the rainy season is far worse in the south,” Thomas said.
“I see,” she murmured stupidly, unable to think of anything to say. Thomas would not like a wife with no conversation. But this was unnatural. Mr. Mayhew’s search for Georgiana was of vital importance and they spoke of the weather.
The cluster of men and ladies ahead diverged from the cages, their attention caught by a crowd forming a large circle.
“Where is everyone going?” Emma asked.
“Appears there is an entertainment about to begin,” Thomas said.
They approached the ring of spectators and Mina jerked with surprise. An Indian lion was crouched and pulling from his handler’s chain. A low growl sounded from the animal’s lowered head, but the poor creature didn’t move. It almost seemed frightened.
A crack in the air made her heart leap into her throat. The handler’s whip swung a second time but she was no more prepared for the sound. The lion reared back on its hind legs and roared, startling the onlookers.
But the lion’s teeth looked odd. And his paws swiped at his own collar rather than the whip. The crowd gasped, but an uncomfortable relief seemed to settle over them at the lion’s show of spirit.
“This is horrible.” Emma started forward but stopped, knowing better than to distract the handler at the other end of the dangerous animal.
Thomas’s face was grim, and Emma turned her back. Mina’s own body trembled with disgust but Mr. Mayhew…
Mr. Mayhew didn’t look away. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his face stony. She might have thought him disinterested if his gloves weren’t stretched taut over his knuckles.
The handler bowed, the lion dropped its head, appearing resigned to its captivity, and the crowd applauded. Mr. Mayhew’s face, even in the shade of his hat, had turned pale. The next instant, he stalked off and disappeared around the corner.
