Lady Helen Finds Her Song

by Jennifer Moore

  Michael didn’t have to be told that her childhood hadn’t been pleasant. Through her simple songs and the things she had mentioned before, he realized that being the youngest child had been difficult for Lady Helen. She had been overlooked and dominated by aggressive siblings and unhappy parents. It was no wonder she struggled to find the words to say in front of people. She had likely been chastised and put down so often that she’d not had the confidence. He’d seen the same thing when she was with Fanny Cavendish today. If only Lady Helen could see what he saw when he looked at her: her kindness when she spoke to the shopkeeper, her excitement about the painted elephant, her tears at the mosque. She was a compassionate, fascinating person but did not believe in herself. His throat constricted as he watched her, realizing that the instrument was a means for an unheard child to express what was in her heart.

  “And what is your song, my lady?”

  She stopped playing but did not look up from the keys. “I do not know, Captain. I think it is the reason I wished to come to India. To find my song.” She darted a glance at him. “How silly does that sound?”

  He longed to bolster her plunging confidence, to tell her he understood everything, that he knew what her heart was saying, that she was important and perfect and, that with him, her opinion would always matter. He ached to pull her into his arms, but instead he brushed his fingers on her wrist. “Do not believe this search is any other but the most important thing you will ever do.”

  She looked up at him, her gaze seeking assurance, and he hoped above anything that she saw it in his eyes.

  The sound of a throat clearing pulled him to his feet.

  “And remember, you must always keep the music sheets inside this box.” Michael’s words came out in a stammer. “Tin will keep white ants from eating the paper.” He turned and found that Jim and Lady Patricia had moved closer without his notice. Michael could feel his heartbeat in his temples, and he knew his face must be red as a beet.

  The general studied him with an eye that seemed to see through him.

  Michael swallowed.

  Lady Patricia touched her fingertips to the pianoforte. “Beautiful, my dear. I have missed your playing these months. It makes this place seem like home, does it not, Jim?” She smiled at her daughter and her husband and then turned her gaze to Michael. “It is nearly time for supper. Captain Rhodes, will you join us?”

  “Thank you, my lady, but I’m afraid I must decline. I have some duties to attend to this evening.”

  “Well, then, we will see you at the ball on Saturday, Captain.” Lady Patricia offered her hand.

  “Yes.” Michael took her fingers, bowing stiffly. “If you will excuse me. I . . . uh . . . should return to the fort.”

  “Good evening, Captain.” Helen stood; her eyes squinted, and her head tipped slightly.

  “Yes. Good evening, my lady. General.” He bowed and saluted and hurried from the room before he could make a bigger fool of himself.

  A syce brought his horse as he left the house, and Michael turned Ei-Zarka toward the strand, hoping a long ride would clear his head.

  He needed to get ahold of his emotions before he allowed them to get away from him. Lady Helen considered him a friend—a dear friend—and he needed to accept that was all he would ever be. Allowing himself to think of her as any other than his commander’s daughter or a delightful acquaintance would be a disservice to both of them.

  But he could not keep his mind from pondering the things she had said. A handsome captain with broad shoulders and thick hair. A smile tugged at his lips, but he quickly stopped it. She was obviously teasing or, more likely, being polite.

  He thought of her reaction to Lieutenant Bancroft’s letter, and the image helped quell his fantasy of anything between himself and the young lady.

  Lady Helen was young and clever and beautiful, while he was a crippled man with no future. He sighed, bouncing a fist on his thigh. Perhaps it was time to apply for a transfer. He’d been in Calcutta for a few months shy of two years, and there must be another station where his particular linguistic skills and local knowledge would be useful. But as soon as he had the thought, the idea of leaving Lady Helen behind shot a jolt of pain through his heart. Would it hurt worse to never see her again or to see her every day and know she could not be his?

  Chapter 10

  The evening of the ball, Helen sat before her changing table, watching in the mirror as Sita arranged her hair, weaving a string of pearls artfully through the light brown curls. Not for the first time, Helen wished her hair were not such an uninteresting color.

  “Thank you, Sita,” Helen stood once her ayah was finished and brushed her hands down over her skirts. She was truly thrilled with this gown her mother had discovered in a dress shop before their voyage. The satin fabric was dyed a beautiful shade of peach. The skirt was pulled up in places, nearly to her knee, revealing a lace trim beneath. Each gathered point was adorned with silk roses, and more sat at her waist and neckline, dangling curling ribbons beneath them.

  She pulled on her gloves and hurried down the stairs, where she found Jim and her mother waiting in the entry.

  “Oh, my dear, you look beautiful.” Her mother gave a satisfied nod and held out her arm for Helen to join them. “Isn’t Helen’s dress lovely, Jim?”

  “Yes, a fine dress.” Jim looked uncomfortable, and she knew he was searching for the right words to say. “Very good, uh, flowers and . . .” He cleared his throat. “Well done.”

  Helen smiled at his attempt. “Thank you.”

  Lady Patricia scratched a spot on the back of her shoulder, her face squeezing in a wince.

  “Are you well, Mamá?”

  “Yes, I think it is just an insect bite. Only a bit of an itch. Shall we be off, then?”

  Jim offered an arm to each lady and led them outside to the waiting carriage.

  As they drove through the city, Helen’s confidence waned. She had no idea what to expect at a ball in India. Was she dressed properly? What if the dances were different than those in England? She did not want to look like a fool making the wrong movements. And she knew very few people. What was the Calcutta society like? What did one talk about with the other members of the Raj? She clenched her hands in her lap and watched the city of Calcutta through the window.

  Jim motioned toward the other side of the carriage. “We are passing Eden Gardens.”

  Lady Patricia leaned forward on the bench, looking past him out the window. “Oh, how lovely! We should take a walk through the paths some evening.”

  Helen studied the beautiful gardens and continued to watch as the carriage passed through a large, wide, grassy plain.

  “On the other side of the garden is Hogg Market, and here in front of the fort is where the troops drill,” Jim said. “In the morning, you’d see cavalry lines and marching regiments.”

  Helen followed Jim’s pointed finger to a flat expanse of ground. She recognized barracks and spotted dark-skinned Sepoys with exposed legs and red regimental jackets as well as British soldiers moving between the buildings.

  “The park here—the maidan—used to be a tiger-infested jungle separating Chowringhee from the river until His Majesty’s forces needed a fort,” Jim continued. “And on the other side of the park, you can see Nabob mansions. The East India Company has made men rich as kings with the spice trade.”

  Helen twisted to look out the other window at the large houses lining the far side of the maidan. She appreciated Jim’s efforts to distract her from her nervousness. He seemed able to read her moods better than even her mother.

  The carriage passed between a triumphal arch guarded on each side by soldiers. When Helen looked up, she saw a large stone lion on the top. She thought the real animal wouldn’t be happy with the many birds who had decided to make the arch their roost, building nests and covering the monument with grass and sticks and other messes birds bring with them.

  Carriages, horses, and servants crowded the wide tree-lined road i
n front of the Raj Bhavan. Jim held her hand as she stepped out of the carriage, and Helen raised her eyes to the enormous building where the Governor-General lived and entertained. The building, she knew, had been built by the Marquess of Wellesley when he’d arrived in India and found his living conditions unsuitable.

  Situated on spacious grounds, the yellow-painted building was shaped like a U, giving the area in front of the main steps the feel of a vast courtyard. The large stairs led to an impressive columned entrance that had a decidedly classical feel. The Raj Bhavan stood out as the largest and most commanding structure in the city. The style was definitely British, not Indian, and Helen believed that was the point. It left no question as to who was in charge.

  She followed Jim and her mother up the stairs, glancing at the people making their way inside. She saw many red-coated soldiers; other men in tails and waistcoats mingled among them. The lack of women surprised her.

  They walked through a wide entry hall and into a grand ballroom with high ceilings and mirrored walls. A small orchestra played at one end, and vases filled with exotic flowers were arranged on tables, giving a heavy perfumed scent to the room.

  A tall man in a white powdered wig and a matronly woman in a plum-colored gown greeted them near the doorway. “Welcome, General Stackhouse,” the man said.

  Jim inclined his head. “Ladies, this is our host, Lord Minto.”

  Lord Minto bowed his head and introduced the countess, who offered her hand to Jim and the ladies.

  Jim continued the introductions. “My wife, Lady Patricia Stackhouse, and her daughter, Lady Helen Poulter.”

  “A pleasure.” After Lord Minto greeted them, he patted his wig.

  Helen wondered if his head itched in the heat of the crowded room or if the wig had slipped when he bowed his head.

  “What a lovely ballroom,” Lady Patricia said. “And it was so very gracious of you to invite us tonight.”

  “Of course. It is not every day that two titled ladies arrive from Home.” Lady Minto lifted her hand in the direction of a group of women. “I shall love to introduce you to our small circle of friends here in Calcutta.” She nodded her head at Helen. “And if you would like to accompany us, Lady Helen, there are plenty of people you simply must meet.”

  As she followed the women, Helen’s eyes scanned the crowd in the ballroom. Even when she’d attended the first assembly of her season last year, she’d been able to find others of her acquaintance or at least see familiar faces.

  Though she did not recognize any of the people, she did recognize their expressions of interest as they watched her and Lady Patricia. Helen and her mother were new to this society, and she felt that everything about them was being assessed—from their hairstyles to their gowns to the way they walked.

  From across the room, Lieutenant Bancroft caught her eye, and she stopped as he approached. “Oh, Lady Helen, how exceptionally lovely you are tonight.” He swept his arm to the side as he offered a deep bow then took her hand.

  Lieutenant Bancroft was so very handsome. Helen’s palm sweated beneath her glove, and she forced herself not to drop her gaze from his. “Thank you.” She tried to think of something to say that would not sound ridiculous.

  He brushed a curl from his forehead with a flick of his writs. “I do hope your hand has not already been taken for the first dance. I’d hoped to find you as soon as you arrived.”

  Helen managed a smile. “It is not taken, sir.”

  He grinned, showing his deep dimple and setting Helen’s heart beating faster. “Good, good. I would consider myself the luckiest man in the room to have the pleasure of claiming it.”

  “Thank you. I should love to dance with you, Lieutenant.” Helen was spared from having to come up with anything further when she heard her name followed by a familiar-sounding giggle. She closed her eyes and let out a breath, arranging her face into a smile.

  Fanny joined them, wearing a green gown covered with layers of lace. “Helen, is this not a fine party?”

  “Very fine. Fanny,” Helen said, “will you will permit me to introduce you to my friend?”

  Fanny turned to look at the lieutenant, and her eyes widened as if she had not noticed him. “Oh, by all means.”

  Helen wasn’t fooled by Fanny’s surprised expression. Meeting the handsome lieutenant was undoubtedly the precise reason she had approached in the first place.

  “Lieutenant Bancroft.” Helen nodded toward him. “Fanny Cavendish. Miss Cavendish and I arrived on the same ship from England.”

  The lieutenant leaned forward in a bow. “A pleasure, Miss Cavendish.”

  Fanny turned her charm in his direction, batting her eyes and pulling her lips into a perfectly executed moue. “Lovely to meet you, Lieutenant.”

  “Lieutenant Bancroft enjoys hunting,” Helen said, nearly rolling her eyes at how daft the sentence sounded. Why could she not carry on a simple conversation?

  Fanny placed her palm to her chest. “How exciting, Lieutenant. Will you tell me about it?”

  Helen didn’t want to hear any more about the lieutenant prowling around the jungle shooting at things. She glanced toward where her mother stood chatting with a group of women. “Pardon me,” Helen said. “I must join my mother.”

  She walked away, certain Fanny’s flirting would keep the lieutenant occupied and that he would love an enthusiastic audience for his stories. Once she reached her mother’s side, introductions were made, and Helen’s mind swirled as she tried to remember all of the new names.

  Her mother scratched her shoulder again, and when someone asked, Lady Patricia told about the insect bite that was bothering her. The women all had stories to tell and remedies to share. They explained to Lady Patricia that it was common practice for ladies to tie pillowcases around their ankles on warm nights like this one to prevent insect bites on their legs.

  “And you must remember to tell a servant to put your bedposts in saucers of water to prevent creeping things from climbing onto you from the floor while you sleep,” a woman said. “They can crawl under the mosquito netting.”

  While they talked, Helen stood quietly listening. She was reminded again how much she still needed to learn about India. The idea of insects crawling on her while she slept made her skin tickle, and she shivered. She glanced around the room. Her heart skipped, and a smile lit her face when she saw Captain Rhodes. The sight of him was a relief, and she felt her earlier worries dissipate.

  She waved, and he approached, greeting her with a bow.

  “I am so glad that you decided to come after all, Captain.”

  “I told you I would be here.”

  His manners seemed stiff, and she wondered if something was wrong. The last time she’d seen him, he had left abruptly. A pit started to grow in Helen’s stomach. Had she said something to offend him? Was the captain irritated with her silly confession about assigning songs to people? Perhaps she was reading too much into his mannerisms and he was simply tired.

  Captain Rhodes glanced above her head and pulled on her elbow, leading her to a pillar a few steps away from the wall.

  Helen looked back and saw moths and mosquitos and other insects swarming around the candle sconces she’d been standing beneath.

  “And is the ball as terrible as you anticipated?” She hoped her lighthearted question would produce his smile. For some reason it seemed extremely important to ensure that the captain felt contented.

  “It is not terrible since I have the privilege of seeing you. You look very beautiful, Lady Helen.”

  Helen smiled. “Thank you, Captain.” She knew he was not one to toss out insincere compliments, and knowing that he spoke genuinely warmed her insides like a drink of hot tea.

  The music changed, indicating that the dancing would begin.

  Helen looked up at him when she recognized the song. “I love a cotillion, don’t you?”

  Captain Rhodes clasped his hands behind his back and nodded. “Very nice.” He did not look at her but kept his
gaze on the partners that had begun to fill the dance floor.

  Helen looked away. He was obviously unhappy with her. Perhaps he thought she was hinting that he should ask her to dance. Heat flooded her face. What must he think?

  Lieutenant Bancroft approached and took her hand. “Excuse us, Captain, while I dance with this exquisite young lady.”

  Captain Rhodes nodded his head and made a grunting sound that Lieutenant Bancroft must have taken for an acknowledgment.

  Helen glanced back as Lieutenant Bancroft led her away. Captain Rhodes met her gaze, but she could not decipher his expression. He did not look pleased in the least, and Helen felt miserable. Why did she always say the wrong thing? Now even the man she considered a dear friend didn’t want to talk to her.

  The lieutenant faced her as the dance began, and Helen knew she should think of some conversation. She had already disappointed one man tonight. “How was your hunting excursion, Lieutenant?”

  She had found just the topic to keep from having to speak further. Lieutenant Bancroft described his journey, the animals they had found, and how exciting the hunt had been. “My only regret is that we did not bag a tiger,” he said.

  “I am sorry, sir. I know you hoped to find one.”

  “There is always next time, and if I should find one, the striped beast will not know what hit it.”

  Helen nodded, not knowing exactly how to reply, but it didn’t deter him at all. He continued to describe more of the animals he had killed and how exciting his leave of absence had been.

  She glanced to where she had left Captain Rhodes. He met her eye again but did not smile. His mouth was tight and his eyes hard. Helen drew her gaze away, blinking at the tears that threatened. Of all people, she never expected the captain’s displeasure to be directed at her. Why had she insisted he come tonight? And why had she babbled on about silly topics that were undoubtedly of little interest to a man of his position? She always said the most ridiculous things.