by Nev March
The monsoon broke over Bombay in a low rumble of thunder, followed by a mighty crash. Rain beat the roof and hammered the windows as I swore at Jameson, trying to leave hospital.
“Dammit, Captain, the Viceroy needs answers!” cried McIntyre.
Head throbbing, my shoulder bound tight and immovable, I made slow progress with it.
All the while, Diana’s betrayal burned. She must have met Akbar in England. He’d attended Oxford—how had I not seen that they could have met abroad? She’d deliberately hidden their association. Why? The question slithered about my mind, dark and ominous.
Next morning, seeing I was set on going, Jameson sent an orderly to accompany me to my boardinghouse. My things were still in boxes, so I spent some time unpacking, one-armed, with little interest. My bottles of charcoal dust, face paint, white chalk, mirror and brushes used for my guises, I left in their crates.
At noon the boardinghouse sent up a boy to ask me down to supper. I declined, having neither appetite nor desire for company. At four, the kitchen sent up some tea. I sipped it by the window, gazing out at the gloom, where rain bounced off shingles and shattered in the street.
When I was hired, Diana had been eager to aid my inquiry. Now I saw that her searching looks spoke not of interest in me but questioning. Could she trust me with her private intelligence? She had not shared it.
She’d known all along the threat came from Akbar. Had they been friends, or more? At Diana’s ball, Akbar had watched her incessantly—had he been in love with her? Diana had not acknowledged him, not the smallest nod, not even when she was presented to the Rani and he stood five feet away. Had they agreed to hide their association?
Then she’d asked me to dance.
I winced, remembering those sweet moments. Now their magic singed me. Diana had compiled a great deal of intelligence about the nobles at her ball. But she’d already known about Ranjpoot. Her touch upon my hand? I had read it as reluctance to end our dance. Was that also deception? In the goddamn coat room she said she loved me! Those whispered words on the carriage ride home, those embraces!
I went to the earthen pot and drank from the metal tumbler, drink after drink that did not quench. When I proposed using Sutton’s boxing match to lure Akbar out, Diana had gone pale, damned me and stormed out. Was it for fear I would be hurt, or concern for Akbar?
“I told you to stay away from my family,” she’d cried at the clock tower, as Akbar’s blade touched my neck. Had they fallen out, years ago, in a lovers’ quarrel? My doubts piled up, burying me.
A knock sounded at my door. Grateful for the interruption yet irritable and off-kilter, I limped across to yank it open.
“Afternoon!” said Superintendent McIntyre, eyeing my battered state.
I swallowed and waved him in.
“Celebrating?” He picked up the metal tumbler from the table and sniffed. His eyebrows rose. “This isn’t liquor.”
I smiled briefly. “Have a seat,” I said, moving newspapers to empty a chair.
“How d’you feel?” he asked, joining me at the window instead, nodding at the bandage around my neck.
“I’m all right. Have you seen them, the Framjis?” I asked.
He sent me a sharp look, then nodded. “Got their statements yesterday. Mostly consistent with yours.”
That wasn’t what I wanted to know. “Are they all right?”
“Young Framji’s recovered.” His lips twitched. “Miss Framji looked a bit peaked.”
Thinking of her, I hurt. After Karachi, a blessed numbness had taken me. How had I pulled out of that strange fog? The Framji case … Adi’s letter had brought me back.
Meeting McIntyre’s liquid grey eyes, I said, “I need work.”
McIntyre asked a couple of questions, then told me to see him at the Constabulary the next morning and left. I continued unpacking, but the sight of my clothes brought to mind the many kindnesses the Framjis had given me. I needed to see Diana, but feared it too, as the end of a dream. I’d been such a fool.
Later that evening, I heard a knock on my door. Expecting no visitors, I opened it, puzzled.
Diana stood there, looking flustered. She’d come to my lodgings alone, risking her reputation, risking ruin. McIntyre had said she looked unwell, but there was more ailing her than that. She had secrets—I recalled how she’d diverted our talk from her time in England.
Looking at her standing red-faced and rumpled on my threshold, I wasn’t sure it mattered.
“Do you want me to leave?” she asked.
“God’s sake, Diana.”
When I’d told her about letting my comrades down in Karachi, she had insisted I must not fault myself for it. She’d believed in me, demanded that I must let it go, move on. She’d refused to accept I was a coward, had insisted she knew me, and it could not be.
She hovered, her face twisted in remorse.
I retreated into formality. “You can’t be here.”
She shook her head. “You weren’t at the hospital.” Tears spilled over those satin cheeks.
She was my life. Whatever she’d done, there it was as plain as day. She’d won my affection with her wit, her care—how could I unlove her now? Her anguish, half torment, half fury, told me all I needed to know.
Shutting the door, I scooped her into my arms. Long moments later, when my breathing slowed, I could hear what she was saying. Diana sobbed, “It was awful. The blood! But I had to do it. I had to.”
“Yes,” I said. The blood. She was talking about Akbar.
“Jim,” she whispered into my neck. “How do you live, without this?”
How indeed! I leaned against a wall, holding her, feeling the tension in her narrow body. I was a ship at harbor again, the crossing behind me. Her betrayal, for that’s how I saw it, had left me gutted.
But Diana too had suffered, grappling with what guilt and torment I could not imagine. Her body felt birdlike, fragile, yet light and warm. Her arms wound around me with desperate strength. How does one live without this—she’d just told me what was ailing her. That soft admission melted me.
“Find something to fix, something to build,” I said into her hair, “and the hours pass.”
She peered up at me, fingers on my unshaved jaw. “You look as bad as I feel.”
I smiled against her touch. “You look … wonderful.”
A bitter chuckle burst from her. “Liar,” she said, and winced. “Jim, I’m so sorry.”
“You knew Akbar,” I said, the barb cutting into me, “yet you said nothing.”
She pulled back, appealing in her fervor. “Jim, I’ll explain if you’ll listen.”
I swallowed, nodded.
Her mouth twisted. “How can you understand? You’re not a woman! Society does not permit a passing acquaintance, do you see? A woman is either innocent or a trollop. There’s nothing in between! If I told you I had met him at a ball in London, what would you have read into it? Did he court me? Did I encourage him?”
There it was, what I feared. I searched her eyes. “Did you?”
She burst out, “I thought he was a friend. But, Jim, he threatened me. Four years ago, in London. I told him to go to the devil.”
“Threatened, how?”
Her lips tightened. “When I would not agree to his demands, he became irate. Called me a tease. Said he would make me regret it.”
“Diana, why didn’t you say?”
She shook her head, pleading. “Who would believe it? And Papa was so keen to see me married well—it would have ruined everything. But it’s no use. Once Papa’s examined the boy’s pedigree, his property, family connections, at the khastegari, I find I cannot abide him! He won’t speak, or talks too much! He’ll pay me ridiculous compliments, but won’t talk politics with a woman. I couldn’t stand it. Papa’s so keen to find me a good match. I couldn’t tell him I knew Suleiman and disappoint him.”
“You could have told me.”
Her voice aching, she said, “I couldn’t, Jim! You would
see me differently. I couldn’t lose you! If I’d been sure of you I could have said. But as it was, well. I hesitated. Then it was too late.”
Her explanation, confused as it was, had the ring of truth. Now I understood her worry, that urgent look before she left for Simla, as she tried to bind us with a kiss. I pressed my lips to her forehead.
Diana whispered, “Do you forgive me?”
“Mm.” Assailed by the scent of lavender and soap, and my own longing, that thickness overflowing in my chest, how could I not? Quiet moments passed. Yet we could not remain in this place. Time, like a surly quartermaster, demanded action, insisting upon a decision. What could we do, Diana and I, to be together?
She stirred and said, “Is this what you’ll do? Keep solving problems, find another mystery?”
I settled her more comfortably against me. “Working for Adi kept me sane. You, sweetheart, you showed me I was wrong about Karachi, how I remembered it. I can go on, because of you.”
“Jim,” she said. “Is that what I should do? Go on, like nothing’s happened?”
Her bitterness cut a familiar slice in me. As I let go of her, she said, “There might be a way. To be together. Can you clean up and come to dinner? I’ll wait downstairs in the carriage.”
CHAPTER 67
A VERDICT
Over dinner Diana told her parents of her acquaintance with Akbar in London and answered their troubled questions. As the dishes were cleared away, I asked, “Adi? McIntyre asked me who shot Akbar. I didn’t say. It was you?”
He shook his head. “I found the revolver by the door. But my hands were tied and quite numb. I couldn’t aim it. The two of you were locked together at the wall. I couldn’t risk a shot. Diana arrived, and when you cried out, she shot him.”
Good grief! “A second later, he’d have cut my throat.” I touched my scar, turning to Diana. “Where did you learn to shoot?”
She blushed. “I begged my friend Emily-Jane to teach me. I was hopeless with a rifle—it hurt my shoulder. But her father’s Remington handgun was easier to fire.”
By God, she’d learned well. I said, “I’m alive because of it. Thank you, my dear.” Turning to Adi, I strove for a lighter note. “Well, sir, as promised, we’ll have no report for the papers. But Adi, when all this is forgot, perhaps I’ll write a book.”
“No, Captain, please!” he cried in alarm. Catching sight of my grin, he amended, “At least not for a hundred years.”
Burjor’s laugh boomed out, and the others chuckled. I grinned. Now all that remained was to persuade Burjor, I thought, watching Diana’s glowing smile.
Ganju entered with a tray of desserts and set one before me. A cylinder of wafer burst with clouds of white confection. Dark strokes of syrup glistened upon the plate. I glanced at the delectable concoction, hesitating to demolish it with a spoon.
Watching me gaze at the swirls artistically arranged on my plate, Mrs. Framji explained, “It’s melted chocolate—on a profiterole.” She sobered, catching my gaze. “Now that this is done, where will you go?”
Adi stilled. I stole a look at Diana. “I hardly know, Marm,” I said. “I’ve not considered anything beyond this matter.”
Just then Jiji-bai whispered in Mrs. Framji’s ear. She rose, dabbing her lips, saying, “Good night, my dears, I must get the little ones to bed.” Seeing me on my feet, she offered her hand in a spontaneous gesture. “Captain, we are so grateful this awful business is over.”
I took her hand in both of mine, genuinely touched. “Mrs. Framji, thank you, for everything.”
In the quiet after her departure, Adi and Diana exchanged glances.
“Jim, you have many options, you know,” Adi offered.
“Yes, Captain!” said Burjor. “Want to run a plantation? We can send you to Ooty. Or would you rather build a hotel in Simla?”
“Papa, Superintendent McIntyre has offered Jim employment,” said Diana. “He would remain in Bombay. And we—”
Burjor put down his spoon. “Diana. You know that would be unwise.” His somber look passed from Diana to me. “Society has rules, Diana. Breaking them carries consequences. Take your friend Cornelia, twenty-four years old and unmarried. When her father converted to Christianity, his own family disowned him. Our Parsee friends may cut all ties with us. We could lose our livelihood!”
So nothing had changed. Lady Bacha’s and Miss Pilloo’s reputations were restored. Akbar and Kasim brought to justice. Adi was free from the threat of blackmail. Yet Diana and I were an ocean apart, simply because I wasn’t born Parsee. No matter what, that obstacle remained.
I asked, “Sir, what can we do to earn your blessing?”
He dropped his forehead into his hands and groaned. “Captain, it’s not just my business. The price is Adi’s future, my babies’ futures. Adi’s an apprentice. Who will give him work?”
Adi straightened up. “Papa, no. Don’t do this for me. I’ll manage.”
Diana said, “Can’t we let everyone believe it is against your wishes? You could drop us. In public! Then they can’t blame you, can they?”
Burjor glowered. “Child, are you asking me to lie?”
Diana’s face was pale, but her chin went up. “Yes! For a good reason, Papa.”
Burjor shrank back. His lip curled. “Should I punch the Captain, too? And pretend I don’t know you, each time we meet? Think, Diana! What are you asking?”
When she flinched under his gaze, Adi said, “Diana, this is your choice. You don’t need permission!”
The implication shocked us all. I stared, astonished. Adi was squarely on our side, Diana’s and mine. Against his own father!
“Adi!” Burjor glared. “What are you doing? Setting her against us, against me?”
Refusing to back down, Adi said, “Diana, you could go with Jim. No one can stop you!”
Burjor’s face went blank, then creased in bitter lines. I knew that look: he felt betrayed. This was the man who’d seen me shorn of my Pathan disguise and, delighted at my return, had embraced me. The memory of that spontaneous gesture smote me.
“No,” I choked out. “No.”
The Framjis—I cared for them all. They’d taken me in, given me their warmth, their trust. They were now at loggerheads—because of me!
“Jim,” Diana whispered. “Let me fight for us.”
“Not like this,” I said. “Diana, we can’t…” Words locked in my throat, refusing to fire.
“We can’t build our life upon the wreck of theirs,” she said, her voice dull.
Our life, she had said. One life.
Diana asked, “Papa, what if it was not a lie? What if I left right now, with Jim?”
I straightened, stared at her. Diana would abandon her family?
She saw my surprise. “Jim, if I came with you, now, just like this, without a paisa, would you have me?”
I smiled at that. Did she not know the answer? When she didn’t return my smile, I said, “Always, Diana. Always.”
She drew a slow breath. “Right, then. It won’t be a lie. If we elope, it’s not Papa’s fault.”
Burjor kneaded his forehead. “Child, what of the scandal, the pain it will cause Mama?”
Diana cringed, biting her lips.
Adi cleared his throat. “I have another solution. If the issue is the Parsees, let’s change their opinion. Byram can publish Jim’s name, tell his story. The Wadias and Petits will be ashamed to drop you, Papa, for letting Diana marry Jim.”
Burjor shook his head. “Adi, it won’t work. It’s not the Petits, Tatas and such who decree this. Our own people insist upon purity. Race is important to them. Blood matters.”
Adi sat up straight. “Well, we don’t know who Jim’s father is, so what if he were Parsee?” He turned to me. “Jim, is there the slightest chance of that?”
This was a lawyerly approach, but no, it would not do. I said, “Adi, look at me. It’s clear that he was English. My name, James, is English.”
Burjor nodded. We were al
ike in that, I suppose, refusing to take the easy way. Truth mattered, and for itself.
“Jim!” Diana’s voice was an anguished whisper. She stood abruptly, pressed her fist to her mouth and ran from the room.
Long moments later, I excused myself as well. My feet felt leaden as I stepped down the wide stairs, turning the problem over. Diana loved me. She was everything I wanted. With her, my future was joy and adventure. Without her, it stretched interminable, a lonely, dark road, no matter what I did for a living.
Yet I would not sacrifice anyone, nor ask Diana to. The cost was too great for the Framjis. If I persuaded her to break with tradition and marry me, scandal would swamp them. I could no more hurt this clan than I could harm Diana herself.
Leaving the house, I walked through the rear lane into pitch black, my mind as dark and sightless as the night. Father Thomas’s words felt heavy inside me: “Don’t let darkness in.”
I had traveled between worlds, from army life to Indian villages, feeling at home in each, as though I had two heartbeats. At the Framjis, east and west blended together, suiting me well. Yet here too I had no place. I would have to make my own.
CHAPTER 68
A FAREWELL
Two weeks had passed since I last walked up the drive, my feet crunching gravel in the dusk, remembering the ache of leaving Diana. Ahead, Framji Mansion glowed, radiant with color and light.
Garlands of tuberoses curved around white marble pillars to scent the wide stairway. Adi’s brother, ten years old, was betrothed today to a girl from a shipping family. Burjor was expanding his empire.
The door was left ajar for me. Laughter and conversation echoed from the dining room, mingled with Burjor’s rumble as he told some story.
I stopped, rooted in the foyer, listening. Mrs. Framji spoke, a softer cadence that caressed my ears. Fingering my mother’s pocket watch, I tried to remember my childhood. I still knew the scent of my mother—sandalwood incense and jasmine. I recalled strings of jasmine flowers in her hair. But it was here in Adi’s home I saw what family could be. Burjor’s hand upon his wife’s shoulder, Diana’s sharp glance checking Adi when he was about to err. This was family, but I was not part of it.
