Lady Helen Finds Her Song

by Jennifer Moore

  “I completely agree. I have often seen similar sights, and I find I never tire of the pageantry of Indian traditions.”

  Helen’s expression relaxed, and she smiled. Michael felt as though he had passed some sort of test, and he wondered why she had worried about speaking of a wedding procession with him.

  “The elephant seemed so happy, as if it knew how beautifully it was adorned and felt honored to perform an important duty. I should love to see a painted elephant again.”

  “My lady, there are likely very few places on this earth where that wish might be fulfilled. Luckily, India is one.”

  “And do you think my hope childish, Captain?”

  Her eyes squinted the smallest bit, and the look of uncertainty returned. Michael wondered if she had been made to feel foolish in the past and hoped his agreement would reassure her. “Of course not. I hope to see a painted elephant myself. A delight such as that should not be taken for granted.”

  The chee-chee-chee call of a kite bird filled the pause, and Helen looked toward the sound, turning to follow the path of the black-and-white bird with its split tail. As she turned, the sight of her purple bruise made him cringe again, and Michael lightly touched the backs of his fingers to the mark on her arm. “If you like, I am acquainted with a native doctor—a hakim. He is skilled with herbs and would prepare a remedy or poultice to ease your pain and help your bruise to heal.”

  Helen glanced at her arm then lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you, but my mother will know the very thing. She herself is quite an expert in herbal medicine. I fear that two hundred years ago people would have thought her a witch, but so many of our friends have depended on her to help with ailments. In fact, that is how she met Jim. He attended a house party in Southampton shortly after his injury, and she mixed a salve to lessen the scarring and ease his discomfort.”

  Michael thought the man must have been quite charmed by Lady Patricia to accept her help. He did not seem like the type of man to readily agree to being nurtured or fussed over.

  “My mother has little patience for traditional doctors,” Helen continued. “Butchers, she calls them. Their use of leeches, bloodletting, tranquilizing, cutting and limb removal—”

  Michael felt his stomach rise into his throat and knew his face went pale.

  “She prefers natural homeopathic—” Helen looked up at his face and stopped speaking. “But I am sorry; you look unwell. Did I say something to upset you, Captain Rhodes?”

  “No. I am not unwell.” He swallowed over his dry throat, frustrated with himself for the wave of nausea that had flowed over him.

  Helen’s gaze moved from his face, and he knew he had not been able to disguise his distress. “But I have talked too much. It is your turn, Captain. I am so very curious, how did you meet your simian companion?” She spoke in a light voice and might have thought she was changing the subject from one that had disconcerted him, but in actuality her question approached the same topic from another direction. He studied her for a moment then turned and continued walking around the pond. “It is a rather long story, and I fear I would not do it justice if I only told a small part.”

  She glanced toward the gazebo. “Shall we sit, then? And I do not mind a long story in the least. I am quite enjoying the company and the setting, and I have been told I’m a good listener.”

  When she looked at Michael, her brows were raised and pinched slightly together. He wondered if she was still worried that she had made him uncomfortable. He gave her a reassuring smile, and they moved to the stone gazebo. The structure was whitewashed with lime, and the style of the richly carved columns and arched doorways reminded him of a Hindu temple.

  Out of habit, he glanced quickly into the shady spots beneath the bench to ensure no serpents were hiding from the sun, and then he took up a place next to Helen.

  She looked at him expectantly, giving a small smile that he took as an invitation to begin.

  “In order for you to understand why that flea-bitten vagabond is such a welcome companion, I should give a little background.” He smiled affectionately. “Two years ago, the company under my command was marching near Jabalpur to meet up with the rest of our regiment. There were rumors of unrest with the Marathas, who you know we have fought nearly constantly for decades.” He glanced at Helen to ensure that she was still interested and, seeing her nod, continued.

  “I led a small group ahead to scout the best means of crossing the Narmada River. In that part of the country, the river flows through a rocky canyon. As we rode along the top of a cliff, we stumbled upon a group of enemy soldiers. My men put up a good fight, but we were outnumbered and the enemy had explosive rockets.”

  Michael swallowed, his mouth dry, as the memories poured back. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of that day and, after making his formal report to his colonel, hadn’t spoken of it to anyone. The faces of men he’d thought of as brothers again floated into his mind. He clenched his hands into fists on his knees, hoping she could not see them shaking.

  “My horse was hit by a rocket and killed. He fell on top of me, crushing my”—he cleared his throat—“my leg.” He shook his head, willing away the swell of emotions associated with the memory. “The enemy thought us all dead and left us for our companions to find hours later. I remember the moment the soldiers removed the horse; the pain was so intense it rendered me unconscious. I awoke the next day in a hospital tent and—”

  He could not tell her the whole of it. Helen’s eyes were wide and full of such sorrow that he felt a stab of guilt for being the cause of any distress to her. How would she look at him if she knew the extent of his injury? Glancing down, he saw that she had placed her hand on one of his fists. How had he possibly failed to notice that? Her soft touch sent a warmth through him that immediately calmed the strain he felt at reliving the dreadful memory. “My lady, I am upsetting you.”

  “Yes, I am troubled, but it is not for my own feelings, sir. I am so very sorry for the suffering you endured, Captain.” She squeezed his fist, and he opened it.

  Helen did not remove her hand but nestled it into his. Her fingers were small and delicate.

  He continued speaking to keep from focusing on the contact that, even thought they both wore gloves, was making his heart beat erratically. “But now I will skip ahead. As you can see, I survived.” He gave her a wry grin. “But I was told my injury was too severe for me to continue in my military career.” He glanced at her again. “And in the very same week, I received word that my father had died of a tropical fever. I’m afraid I became quite despondent. That time was the absolute lowest of my life. I could not walk, and I had no family—darkness took hold of my heart. I did not eat or sleep. I could not bear to keep living.” He didn’t look at her but felt her hand tighten in his again.

  “One day the surgeon’s aides fashioned a sort of chaise bed outside the hospital, thinking that fresh air and sunshine would improve my frame of mind. And as I sat, filled with despair and pain and anger, a mess of blood and fur climbed onto the bed and collapsed in my lap.”

  He heard Helen gasp.

  “Upon examination, I found him covered with scrapes and deep cuts, surely from a fight with another animal. I called immediately for water and bandages, and even though the hospital staff thought I had lost my mind, I bound his wounds and fed him. Somehow, over the next days, I forgot my own sorrow as I cared for Badmash. I found a renewed desire to continue living because he depended on me. In time he recovered and I recovered, and . . . we carried on. It sounds foolish, but I believe Badmash saved my life.” Michael leaned back against the rail of the gazebo, feeling exhausted. He turned his head to the side, wondering how Helen would react to his story. He’d never told it to anyone. Nobody had asked. What must she think of him?

  Helen was silent as she studied their joined hands and then lifted her gaze to meet his. “You haven’t told the story to many people, have you, sir?”

  “You are the first.”

  She nodded, and
a soft smile pulled at her mouth. “Thank you for trusting me with something so personal. I realize it was not easy.”

  Michael didn’t dare to move in case she realized that he still held her hand.

  “And I am indebted to Badmash too. I would be sorry never to have met you, Captain Rhodes. I am glad to have a friend here in—” Her words broke off, and she stood when a servant approached on the path.

  Michael rose with her.

  The woman bowed as she neared. “Lady Helen, your mother sent for you.”

  “Thank you, Sita. I shall join her directly.”

  Sita bowed again and hurried away.

  “Captain Rhodes, I am sorry to cut our visit short.”

  “Come. I will accompany you back to the house.” He lifted her hand, placed it in the crook of his elbow, and led her back down the path. “I am sorry as well, but we shall have another opportunity I wager.”

  “Yes, I do hope so.” Helen tipped her head toward him, smiling. Michael felt his heart lighten and his worry over whether he should reveal his personal thoughts dissipate. Time spent with Lady Helen was precious but far too short, and he feared that no matter how often they were in one another’s presence, he would always be left wanting more.

  Chapter 6

  Helen bid farewell to Captain Rhodes, smiling as she made her way to the sitting room to meet her mother. As the youngest child, she had not often been taken into confidence, and she quite liked that the captain had told her his story, trusting her with something he hadn’t shared with anyone else. She felt privileged that after such a short time he considered her a dear enough friend to confide in her. Other than her mother, and now Jim, very few people in Helen’s life had made her feel valued the way the captain did.

  In the sitting room, she found her mother dressed and waiting for her at the small table. “Mamá, are you certain you are well enough to be out of bed?”

  She gave a quick nod. “Restorative herbs, a bit of extra sleep, and I am quite the thing. Thank you, dear.” Lady Patricia lifted her cheek for a kiss and then motioned for Helen to turn and present her arm for inspection. Helen’s neck grew warm at the idea that Jim had told her mother about the events of the night before. Her mother opened a small jar, and the aroma of witch hazel, lavender, and other herbs Helen couldn’t identify filled the air.

  Most would find the smell unpleasant, but to Helen the scent of her mother’s herbs was comforting. The familiarity was bit of home in this faraway place. Lady Patricia gently spread some of the salve on Helen’s bruise then nodded and wiped her fingers on a handkerchief.

  “Thank you, Mamá.” She twisted her arm to see she shiny smear spotted by bits of flora. Helen sat at the table and studied her mother. Lady Patricia did not look sickly in the least—in fact, quite the contrary. Her cheeks were rosy, and her skin glowed. The sight was a relief. “Have you eaten?”

  “Yes, Jim sent for a tray before he left this morning.”

  Helen felt grateful for the level of concern Jim showed her mother. Lady Patricia was extremely practical and not at all given to drama or romantic fancies. She didn’t dally when there was something to be done nor balk at unpleasantness. Helen had never known her to be ill; she simply did not have the patience for it. But in spite of her matter-of-fact temperament, Jim worried for her and even pampered her in a way Helen would have never thought her mother would allow.

  “Jim told me you had quite an adventure last night.” It was not like her mother to mince words, and Helen should have known she would approach the matter head-on.

  “Yes. I am dreadfully embarrassed by how I acted. I was just so . . . frightened.” Even just thinking about how she had felt when she’d seen the shadows flicker over the fanged beast made her heart beat faster. “Jim must have been very disappointed.” She lowered her eyes, humiliated at what he must think. Jim was a soldier, commanding men in battles. How could he not think it ridiculous that a member of his own household would take such a fright from a mere decoration? The idea of disappointing the man she was coming to love as a father made her throat tight.

  “He was not disappointed in the least.” Lady Patricia touched her finger beneath Helen’s chin, lifting her face. “One ailing uncle whose death provided enough money to purchase his army commission was all the family Jim knew. He did not think he would ever be a father and certainly has no experience caring for a young woman. It is good for him.” She smiled, and her expression grew soft. “At first impression, Jim seems impatient and bad-tempered, but I believe his disposition is merely an act, a way he’s found to protect himself. Can you imagine how difficult it must have been for a man to live nearly fifty years without being loved? Of course, he had the respect of his men and a few close friends.” Lady Patricia blinked her eyes, which Helen noticed were shining. “But it is not the same as a family.”

  “I am glad he found you, Mamá. You love him so much, and he makes you happy.” Helen thought about her mother’s words. A way to protect himself. She wondered how much of her mother’s independent nature was brought on by a need to be strong while married to the earl. Her own protection.

  “With Jim, I am safe.” Lady Patricia said. “Not simply safe from physical harm, but I trust him with my heart and know without a doubt he would never hurt it. I am safe to say anything or be anything with him, and he will not think less of me. That is what love is, my dear. And I did not know it until I met him.”

  Helen had never heard her mother speak so plainly about things of the heart. The words stirred up a confusing mixture of emotions. Hope and happiness but also sorrow. She knew her mother had not loved her father, but to hear it said so plainly made her shift in her seat, feeling ill at ease with the direction the conversation had taken.

  Lady Patricia placed her hand on Helen’s. “I hope you’ll not settle for less, my dear. I have known both types of marriage. A title and a manor house are nothing compared to truly loving and being loved in return.”

  Helen nodded, still unsure how to respond. Her mother certainly had changed. In her entire twenty years, Helen had never known her to be so free with her emotions, and it was a bit frightening.

  Lady Patricia straightened her lacy cap, clearly uncomfortable that she had shared so much. She turned toward the table beside her, spreading her hand to indicate the pile of calling cards and invitations from the entry hall. “We’ve had quite a few callers. Many even before our ship arrived and some yesterday while we were not receiving.” She lifted a stack of cards and handed them to Helen. “And now to plan our return calls. Shall we begin?”

  Helen knew the conversation was over and did not know whether to be grateful or disappointed. This new, expressive side of her mother would require a bit of getting used to. She took the cards and began to look through them, but her mind was on the words her mother had spoken. For the second time that day, she felt pleased that someone had shared something so intimate with her. Perhaps now that they were in India, Helen would not be simply the earl’s shy youngest daughter but someone more notable. Perhaps others would treat her as an adult, sharing confidences, asking for her opinion, and taking into account what she had to say. If she managed the nerve to actually say anything.

  “And you walked with Captain Rhodes this morning.”

  Helen glanced up as her mother spoke. “Yes. We explored some of the pathways of the garden. The grounds are lovely, a mixture between tended gardens and wild growth. The flowers are beautiful, and you know, the captain is very easy to talk to.” She smiled, remembering her pleasant morning. It was a welcome change to the subject.

  “He strikes me as very likeable.”

  Helen nodded. “Extremely so. I am glad to have made his acquaintance. Very likeable indeed.”

  They worked companionably together for a few moments, chatting as they sorted the cards into piles, indicating whether a visit or a note would suffice as a reply and which required immediate attention.

  Helen opened a large envelope, removing the missive inside, the
n gasped with delight. “There is to be a ball on Saturday in honor of the brigadier-general and his family’s arrival.” She leaned closer so her mother could read the invitation as well. “Saturday. That is only three days away.” Helen could not hold back her smile.

  “And it is to be at the Raj Bhavan—the government house. Given by Lord Minto, the Governor-General, and his wife. What an honor.”

  Helen felt as if a bubble grew inside her chest. She had beautiful new ball gowns, any one of which would be simply perfect. And as a guest of honor, she would undoubtedly dance with nearly every gentleman in attendance. Captain Rhodes would surely ask for a set, and—Helen gasped and pushed aside the cards until she found the one she was looking for. Lieutenant Bancroft. How had she forgotten? Would he dance with her? The thought made the bubble expand, and her cheeks heated.

  She held his note toward her mother. “Mamá, Lieutenant Bancroft requested a visit this afternoon, and I have already accepted.”

  Lady Patricia took the note. “Loveliest young lady in all of India.” She glanced at Helen, and a smile pulled at her lips. “Of course he is welcome, dear. Charming gentleman, is he not?”

  “Very charming.”

  “And handsome too.” She lifted her eyebrows, and Helen blushed.

  “I thought to wear my new lavender gown.”

  “Then you shall indeed be the loveliest young lady in all of India.” Lady Patricia winked.

  “Mamá.” Helen took the note and continued sorting the cards to prevent her mother from seeing the grin that grew on her face as she imagined dancing with Lieutenant Bancroft.