She felt a sense of warmth spread through her joints and rise to the surface of her skin at the clear image of what it would mean to become his mistress. She knew how society viewed such women. They were held in contempt. But if that was her only option in this harsh and violent city—and Captain Seymour were to be her provider—that slight would certainly be bearable. To be close to him. To awaken each morning in the arms of such a man.
“You think those workers were from India? Because of the language?”
His words interrupted her daydreaming. Sophy was relieved that the shadows inside the carriage hid her flushed face.
“I think so, but his answer to my question was not specific as to where in India. Many languages are spoken in that country.”
“And you know that.”
She frowned. “Another part of this education that I cannot make sense of.”
Captain Seymour called to the driver and gave him directions to an address in the city. They were not going to her house in Soho.
“Another stop?”
“The members of the Geographical Society of London keep meeting rooms on Regent Street. We are going to visit a friend of mine who should be there about this time of day. He might be able to offer a clue as to the origin of the language you speak. He spends most of his afternoons there.”
“And you believe the language might be a clue to my past?”
He shrugged. “You ran across this stranger at the West India Docks, where hundreds of ships coming from the Orient are lined up. Considering your knowledge of the port and merchant ships, we might be able to narrow the search. My friend might just be able to tell us where that man is from.”
“And what is your friend’s name.”
“Archibald Acton.”
“He is a geographer?”
“He is an explorer, of sorts. Recently retired. I know he spent a lot of time in different provinces of India and the Far East.”
“How do you know him?” she asked.
“He traveled aboard my ship on two mapping expeditions a few years back. Although he is much older, we became good friends on those voyages. We have corresponded since I’ve been back in London, but I have not had a chance to visit with him. This will be a perfect opportunity.”
Captain Seymour had become such an integral part of Sophy’s present that she’d never given much thought to his profession. He was a captain in the Royal Navy. A chill ran through her. He was a naval officer; he would be going away. He would not be a part of her life each day. She did not even want to think of how desperate she’d be without him in her life right now.
She had no doubt that the ghost would visit her again soon. And she was nervous what demand she would make, this time. Into what unforeseen dangers would she lead Sophy?
The last time, she’d realized the power the spirit wielded. Not going had hardly been an option, and Sophy dreaded the next visit. It would be at night. Quite probably when she was alone at her lodgings in Soho.
Sophy had to manage the appeasement of both Captain Seymour and her ghostly guide. Somehow, she had to satisfy the demands of both the living and the dead.
And that, she told herself, letting out a deep breath, should present no difficulties, at all.
CHAPTER 15
“The fellows of my Society have traveled to the four corners of the world, risked our lives for science and for the queen. We’ve spent our youth facing savages, cannibals, disease, and the ravaging elements of nature. Have we not, I ask you, Captain?”
“Indeed, you have, sir. Like my friend Acton, I am certain you have spent a life of service and distinction.” Edward cast a glance at the closed door where Archibald Acton had been interviewing Sophy for nearly two hours.
“Exactly,” the old man said, running his hands in obvious frustration through his white hair, which seemed to have a life of its own, each truculent strand standing out in every direction. The man was eighty, if he was a day, but he certainly was not lacking in either energy or passion. “And then we come home with a simple hope of finding a place, not to rest our weary bones, sir, but rather to discuss and record for posterity the astounding discoveries we have made. Is this too much to ask?”
“Hardly.” Edward softly drummed the carved arms of his chair.
“But instead, what do we find? We are reduced to mere beggars. Here in the capital of the world we must borrow space from the botanists, for heaven’s sake.” He shook his head and looked imploringly at Edward. “Now, that is an embarrassment. Is it not?”
The man continued, but Edward paid little attention to the rest of what was being said. His mind was in the other room with Sophy. From the night when he’d first laid eyes on her in the upstairs room at Urania Cottage, he’d known the mystery surrounding her wouldn’t be a simple one to solve.
“And what is your opinion, Captain?”
He turned his attention to the old man sitting across from him. The scientist was waiting for an answer, but Edward had no idea what the question was.
The abrupt entrance of Acton into the room saved him.
“Excuse me, sir,” Edward said, standing and joining his friend near the door.
“Where is Sophy?”
“She is in the other room. Actually, she is helping an assistant of mine with the translation of a passage we’ve been struggling with for some time. The script is from an ancient manuscript sent to me by a friend who is employed by the East India Company.”
Archibald Acton seemed very pleased with himself. He adjusted the spectacles on his nose—his blue eyes shining with delight as he slapped Edward on the back.
“A gem. She is absolutely a gem . . . in both mind and beauty, I must say. And an amazing story. Where did you say you met her?”
“That is not information that I would like to make public,” Edward told his old friend. “And the same goes for her lack of memory regarding anything of her past.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. I can see how easy it would be for someone to take advantage of her situation. How lucky it is that she crossed paths with you.”
Edward tried not to think of his own intentions when he’d taken the rooms at Soho for her. He followed Acton inside the room.
Sophy’s head was bent over a document of some kind with a young man of about her age. She was reading and translating the text while Acton’s assistant took hurried notes. Soft tendrils of hair danced around her beautiful face. The dim light of afternoon pouring in created a luminous aura around her, making her look almost ethereal. She looked up and smiled at Edward, and he felt the warmth of it deep inside.
“Two more lines and we’ll be done,” she told him.
Edward didn’t miss the look of deep admiration the young assistant directed her. The poor chap was already in love.
“Then I can assume you’ve identified the language she speaks?” Edward asked quietly.
“Languages,” the old man corrected. “You already knew about the French. Well, she has a competent knowledge of Latin, as well. But that’s not why you brought her here.”
The retired explorer walked to a table by the window. Volumes of books lay scattered across it. “She mentioned her ability to understand some people who appeared to be from India. Well, there are more than twenty distinct languages that are spoken in what we call India, and bloody little effort has been given to documenting any of them.”
He chose a specific book and opened to where lines of flowing script filled the pages. The figures looked like art to Edward.
“She read this as easily as you and I read the Times.”
“What is it?”
“Bengali. Variations of it are spoken in many parts of India, but predominantly in the eastern and northeastern regions. She can read and write the text, and she appears to have a thorough understanding of it.”
Edward knew there were thousands of British families tied into the East India Company in that region. Men often took their wives with them and raised their children there, but he couldn’t imagin
e many educating them in the language of the native people.
“But that’s not the only language she recognizes.” Acton paged through the book. “She knows some Hindi and Urdu, and she appears to have some reading knowledge of several less popular dialects.”
He opened another book with ornate drawings and colored plates. “She has identified these places in Calcutta and Dacca, and she believes she’s been there. Her descriptions match what we’ve found in these books.”
Acton’s voice rose as he placed a hand on Edward’s arm. “And most fascinating, my friend, she knows the names of many Derozians.”
The old man didn’t wait for Edward to ask, but continued on excitedly.
“The Derozians are a group of radical Bengali free thinkers. These men are connected to the Hindu College in Calcutta. They are named after their founding teacher, a firebrand of a figure, Henry Louis Vivian Derozio. Your young friend has expounded on some of their teachings. She is familiar with their publications!”
Acton looked back in amazement at Sophy. He appeared more in love than his assistant.
“I’ve never known a woman so well read and educated in such topics as she is. She is quite young, so a great deal of credit must, of course, go to her father or husband to cultivate in her, such a mind.”
The word ‘husband’ felt like a spike being driven into Edward’s chest. The mystery, though, seemed to be nearer to being solved.
“This is a great help, Acton. I shall direct my attention to families in London who have spent some time in Bengal.”
“That won’t be easy, my friend. I think you’ll find a large number that fall into that category. At present, I believe there are some forty thousand soldiers alone that are employed by East India Company, never mind those in the civilian branches of the business. Any of them could have had family there. And, of course, there are many other businessmen who have moved in as the monopoly has been curtailed.”
“I will count on our British tendency to socialize with members of our own class. Once she’s introduced to the correct circle, someone might recognize her.”
Acton sent another glance in Sophy’s direction. “I suggest you take your time, Captain. You yourself mentioned of her inability to remember who she is. Let her find her footing first.”
Edward would give her all the time in the world, if he could trust his own desire for her. He should never have kissed her.
“We have spoken of this at length on our voyages. And I know we have quite similar views on the damages that accompany this zeal for wealth from foreign exploitation. I should be more fearful of the jackals of our own class than any so-called savage.” Acton lowered his voice. “And having spent some time in India, I have seen how so many of our countrymen live there. They believe themselves to be above God and country, and they will do anything to make a profit. Don’t throw her, unprotected, into such company. Don’t risk this precious gem in such hands.”
CHAPTER 16
The ghost was back.
It was already dark outside when they left Regent Street. There, among the people by the carriage, Sophy saw her. It was obvious that no one else could see her. In fact, there were more than a few who walked right through her. The young spirit simply stood watching her, making no gestures, saying nothing, her attention focused solely on Sophy.
The same thing happened later, when they stopped at a nearby chophouse for dinner. The captain was lost in thought for most of the meal, and Sophy was distracted, as well. She could not miss the apparition standing by the great open fireplace. The young woman was making her presence known to her, waiting for the opportunity to catch Sophy alone. Such attentions did nothing for an appetite.
Inside the carriage, on their way to Soho, Captain Seymour was again silent for most of the journey, speaking up only when she saw that they were nearing her neighborhood.
“Today was certainly fuller than either of us intended,” he said. “You get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow, when I come for you, we can plan what needs to be done next.”
Sophy was surprised. Clearly, whatever it was that Archibald Acton told him, his passion for her had melted away in the evening mist. The old gentleman had seemed to have no doubt that she had spent time in India. She now believed that, as well. Why that would bring about such a change in the captain, though, was a mystery.
She peered glumly out the window. At the corner where they turned onto her street, Sophy saw the ghost on the sidewalk, watching the carriage pass. There would be no escaping her.
Sophy sat back and looked across at the captain. “You can’t be retiring so early.”
“I am not retiring. But you are.”
“But are you coming in with me first?”
The inside of carriage was dark, but she didn’t miss the touch of amusement creeping into his expression. “What are you up to, Sophy?”
She tried to think of an excuse, but there was none.
“I . . . you . . . I don’t know. I just thought since the ride to the docks—.” She felt her face go warm. She couldn’t even talk about their kiss without losing her nerve. “I am so sorry. I am not very good at this.”
“You are perfect at it,” he said quietly, kissing the back of her hand and letting go. “And that is why I will not come up to your lodgings. I don’t trust myself alone with you.”
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the house. “But you can trust me. I’ll make sure nothing happens between us.”
He must have heard the note of desperation in her voice. “Why do you want me to come up? Is something wrong?”
Sophy wished she could tell him. “I have this feeling again. This sensation of restlessness. I don’t know. I may need to go out there, chasing I don’t know what.”
“You will not leave this house, Sophy,” he said in a stern tone. “You gave me your word.”
She gave an obedient nod.
“There is so much that you discovered today about your past. You would not be foolish enough to put yourself in some kind of senseless danger, would you? There is no purpose to it.”
He had no idea that she had little to say about any of this. Sophy peered out the window at the street. The ghost was there by the door, waiting.
He stepped out of the carriage ahead of her and reached up to help her out. “Your hands are freezing. You are shaking. Are you sure you are not falling ill?”
“I think I am,” she said, relieved for the idea.
“I’ll send for a doctor.”
“No,” Sophy said, leaning against him after she stepped out. She clutched at his arm. “You are right. Today was too much. I’d like to speak to someone about it, but you are the only one I can confide in. If you would just sit with me upstairs for a short time. Please, Captain. That will make me feel better.”
Whatever resolve he had, disappeared. Sophy was relieved to know there was still some feeling left in him for her. He gave directions to his driver and walked with her to the door.
The ghost blocked her way. Sophy would have to walk straight through her. One step away from the young woman, she stopped.
You need to go back to the docks on the Isle of Dogs. Something is waiting for you at a warehouse there. You need to go back. Time is short.
Sophy looked up at Captain Seymour. He couldn’t see the spirit; he hadn’t heard her words.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t send for a doctor?” His face showed nothing but concern for her.
“No,” she said in a small voice, forcing herself to take the next step.
Her fingers cut through the apparition. A chill colder than any ice sliced through her body in an instant. Then, with the fast moving power of a windstorm, images whirled in her mind.
A city street of red clay. Buildings of white-washed stone spun at the edges of her vision. All around her, the homely sound of brooms sweeping the dirt with the rhythm of music. Suddenly, children surrounded her, their voices like a thousand tiny birds. Young faces looked up at her with absolute trust. Clas
ped hands and entwined fingers formed a human rope. Two small hands took hold of hers. They were soft and cool, pulling her toward a body of water that she could see at the end of the street. Masts of ships rose in the distance, piercing an azure sky.
Above the children’s voices, the roll of far off thunder grew ever closer, ever louder, until the happy voices became screams. She tightened her hold on the small hands as the wind whipped up. She knew she must protect them. The red dust swirled around them, blinding her. She cried out to hold on, but the children’s faces, one by one, were torn away. She held tight to the last two, but they too were pulled into blinding storm. She stood alone, feeling the chill of desolation at having failed. And then the wind was gone, and all she heard was the sound of the brooms in the red dust.
The apparition left her. Sophy gazed vacantly at the captain, feeling her own blood again pulsing in her veins.
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” He shook her gently by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
There was no storm, no red dust, no children left to protect. She looked around. They’d never even gotten through the door. Tears clouded her vision.
“I need to go.” She stepped back, slipping out of his embrace.
“Go? Where?”
“To the Isle of Dogs. To a warehouse at the West Indies Docks.”
“Why would you want to do that? Have you lost your mind?”
She didn’t answer him, but started down the street toward the square. The carriage was still sitting at the curb, and the driver looked from her to the captain. She went by him.
Sophy had no doubt that her guide would lead her to the place. Captain Seymour called after her again, but she only sped up. He caught up to her before she had gone thirty paces. He grabbed her arm and spun her around. His face was livid.
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