Monsoon Mists (7 page)

‘Maybe not, but I’m glad he did. It’s saved me from having to marry again.’ Zar shivered at the thought. ‘It’s given me freedom and you know I’m good at trading. It amused old
sahib
to teach me and I know he was surprised that I learned so quickly, but it’s been a blessing. If only I can keep the business from being dragged down by my fool of a partner.’ She continued her perambulation. ‘What is he up to, I wonder? Why Mansukh?’

The man in question was the most powerful of the local merchants and not one to trifle with. Zar always avoided him, if at all possible, and would never make a deal which she knew went against him in any way. It was much better to stick to goods and deals he wanted no part of.

She sighed. It would seem William didn’t have the wits to do the same. Zar came to a quick decision. ‘Priya, I’m going out again. I do believe I’ll accompany my stepson to the bazaar after all. He said that was where he was going when I met him just now.’

‘The bazaar? But you’ve only just come in and—’

‘Now, Priya, hurry please. I need to keep an eye on him and not give him the chance to do something stupid.’

Could she really stop him though?

Sanjiv hadn’t yet arrived in Surat, but then Jamie hadn’t expected him to. Going by ship was bound to be much faster and he knew he’d have time to kill before the fake snake charmer joined him. He decided he might as well seek out his contact here. Even if he didn’t actually hand the fake talisman over immediately, perhaps he could find some useful information by following the man around.

Lord, he was turning into a spy, but he didn’t see how else he could learn what he needed to know. Handling stolen goods went against everything he felt was right and he didn’t like the fact that his friend had been coerced into accepting this task either. For both reasons, he’d like to unmask the real culprits and if possible perhaps even return the talisman to its rightful owner.

The morning after his encounter with the ‘Ice Widow’, he’d rented the house Andrew recommended.

‘It’s not one of the imposing stone mansions along the river, but nonetheless a sizeable property,’ Andrew had explained. ‘It belongs to a
bania
.’

Jamie knew wealthy Hindu merchants, called
banias
, lived near the English Factory, but in a part of Saudagarpura called Nanavat
.
Their homes were in less ostentatious buildings made of brick, and in the form of terraced houses, sharing their walls with their neighbours. One of these had been available to rent, and came complete with two servants – a butler cum valet called Kamal and his wife, the cook, Soraya.

‘This will suit me fine, thank you.’ Jamie had come to an agreement with the owner’s representative after a lengthy haggling session, which ended satisfactorily for both parties. It hadn’t taken him long to settle in and become bored, which was why he decided to begin his search the following evening, when the worst of the day’s heat had subsided.

‘I’m going out for a stroll,’ Jamie told his temporary manservant. ‘Please ask your wife to serve the evening meal in a couple of hours.’

‘Very good,
sahib
.’

Leaving the house was like stepping into something tangible, like a moist cloud, the heat so heavy and thick one could almost touch it. Despite the late hour, it enveloped him, weighing down his shoulders, but he was used to it and ignored the discomfort. He thought he’d walk to the nearby bazaar and try to find the street where the gem merchants had their premises. Andrew had told him roughly where it was located and as the town wasn’t huge, Jamie was in no hurry to reach his destination. He wandered the crooked lanes, sauntering slowly and taking everything in with interest.

He found it endlessly fascinating to study people going about their daily business and comparing this street scene to those he’d seen in other countries. There were similarities – the merchants trying to attract customers, the housewives or servants buying provisions, the pickpockets and other undesirables sidling around – but the subtle differences in race, clothing and customs made for a unique scene. Here he saw hordes of people dressed mostly in white. The only splashes of colour were provided by the turbans most of the men wore and the sashes tied round their waists.

None of the streets were laid out in an orderly fashion and there were a great many narrow lanes leading off in all directions. Jamie had found during his first visit that it was very easy to get lost as some of the smaller ones sometimes stopped abruptly with no way through. They weren’t paved either and a continuous nuisance was the amount of dust swirling around, which was likely to choke you or at the very least make you cough. A stream of conveyances of various kinds didn’t help matters.

Along the way, Jamie passed the street where the
sarafs
, or money changers, had their shops. He didn’t need their services at present, but he’d made use of them in the past, as everyone did. With the many different types of coin in circulation, it was unavoidable. Beggars held out their hands in pitiful supplication, but Jamie hardened his heart to most of them. He’d be a very poor man now if he had given alms to each and every one. Occasionally he couldn’t resist, however, especially if he saw someone maimed in any way.

‘Bless you,
sahib,
may the gods send you good fortune.’

Cloth of various kinds was the main product of the province of Gujarat and Jamie lost count of the number of sellers he passed. Mostly they offered their customers cotton – white, coloured, striped or painted – but also some silks and materials embroidered with gold or silver thread. The majority of the shops were situated on the ground floor of the houses and the shopkeepers stood in their doorways calling for customers and crying their wares. If you ignored them, they would sometimes follow you for a while to recommend their goods, presumably in the hope that you’d change your mind.

‘Step inside,
sahib
, see best quality cloth in Surat,’ they all shouted, trying out various languages and dialects if they knew how.

This made Jamie smile, but he continued on without taking them up on their offers. He would buy a large amount for his mother and sisters if he ever returned to Sweden, but for now, he declined.

At last he reached the bazaar, which was really just a long street, but twice as broad as some of the others. He knew that, with the exception of the hottest part of the day, it was always full of people from early in the morning until late at night, making it difficult to get through the throng. It was a wonderfully colourful scene, the multitude of wares for sale creating a patchwork of bright hues. Also present were a huge number of dogs, barking and yapping, but he’d been told these were highly valued by the
Parsees,
one of the ethnic groups in the city, so no one took much notice.

Various pungent smells assailed him – spicy food, flowers, fruit and incense, as well as less savoury odours. Children with big dark eyes and black hair darted in and out between their elders, making a racket, shrieking and laughing with joy. They were beautiful, with very white teeth in their sunburned faces and ready smiles. Jamie couldn’t help but smile back at them, even when they bumped into him by mistake.

About halfway down the street, Jamie suddenly spotted Mrs Miller alighting from a palanquin with a man holding out an impatient hand to help her. While her escort paid off the men carrying it or gave them instructions – Jamie didn’t know whether it was a personal conveyance or a hired one – the widow stood beside him with a faraway gaze as if she was deep in thought. Jamie stopped for a moment too, curious despite himself. He’d calmed down considerably since their encounter and admitted to himself that he’d completely over-reacted the other night. Andrew had since confirmed that the poor woman was plagued with suitors, so perhaps it wasn’t to be wondered at if she’d assumed he was yet another one.

Still, she could have waited until he actually asked.

Her escort was taking his time, perhaps haggling with their bearers. This gave Jamie the opportunity to admire the view the widow presented. There was no question she was stunning to look at and he reckoned he could safely gawp from a distance as she’d never know. The last thing he wanted was to feed her vanity, but from where he was standing, she wouldn’t be able to see him.

But who was the man? An Englishman, or other foreigner of some sort, judging by his fair hair, but with a tanned face as if he’d spent years here. Of normal height, the man wasn’t bad looking, but nothing special either. Her lover? Hadn’t the widow told Jamie she preferred to be alone? Maybe it had all been lies, designed to discourage him from offering for her. Jamie swallowed down the irritation that rose inside him anew. He shouldn’t jump to conclusions without learning the true facts.

In the next instant, he forgot all about their encounter in the roof garden as a flash of white sped past her and Jamie saw her arm jerk as the drawstring bag she’d been holding was snatched out of her hand. Mrs Miller opened her mouth, presumably giving a small shriek, and the man she was with turned and frowned at her. She pointed along the street, where the little thief – for it was a very small one, Jamie saw – was running and dodging between the passers-by with the sinuous dexterity of a snake. The culprit was too fast for Mrs Miller’s companion to catch, but he was heading in Jamie’s direction.

Without further thought, Jamie looked right and left, then pushed his way across the street, narrowly missing the huge front foot of an elephant lumbering by. Its handler shouted imprecations after him, but Jamie ignored that. He reached the other side just as the thief came charging towards him. Pretending to be walking along like everyone else, Jamie didn’t so much as look at the child until he was almost next to him. Then his arm shot out and grabbed the skinniest little wrist he’d ever come across. The thief was pulled to a standstill, his feet practically leaving the ground at such an abrupt halt, and gave an involuntary gasp.

‘Aahh!’

Jamie stared into enormous brown eyes, where fear and defiance warred. To his surprise, he realised they were very feminine eyes, with long silky lashes, as was the rest of the dainty face.
So, a girl thief. Why am I not surprised?
Everyone had to survive here; girls as well as boys were sent out to work. But thieving? That was an unusual occupation for a little girl.

He held out his hand and said in English. ‘Give me the bag.’ Even if, as he was fairly certain, the girl didn’t understand his words, there was no mistaking his meaning. She glanced wildly around, as if searching for some kind of escape route and he felt her trembling. They both knew that if she gave it to him, she’d be admitting to theft which probably carried a death sentence here, if not mutilation at the very least. Jamie felt his insides constrict at this possibility. She was so young, she looked no more than six or seven. And she’d probably been ordered to do this by someone else.

Swallowing hard, the girl reluctantly dropped the bag into his outstretched hand, then tried to wriggle out of his hold. Jamie shook his head. ‘Not so fast.’ Threading his free hand through the strings of Mrs Miller’s bag, he dug in his pocket and came up with a silver coin. He held it up in front of the startled girl’s face and scowled at her. ‘Don’t ever do this again, understand?’ He nodded at the bag, then shook his head emphatically. Then he flipped her the coin, which she caught with swift dexterity, and let go of her arm. With a final, confused look at his face, as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened, she took off and melted into the crowd.

Jamie straightened up and turned to head towards Mrs Miller. He met her, with her companion trailing some way behind her, halfway to where he’d last seen them and held out the bag with a bow. ‘Yours I believe?’

‘I … yes, thank you, but how …?’

‘I was walking along on the other side of the road and saw what happened. I intercepted the thief.’ Jamie shrugged. ‘Got away though.’ He purposely avoided the word ‘she’. Mrs Miller didn’t need to know she’d been robbed by a girl.

‘A shame,’ she said, although he noticed she gave him a long, considering look. ‘Would have been good to catch him and perhaps guide him into a worthier occupation. Really, they seem to start them on a criminal career from infancy now.’

‘I’ll try to keep that in mind next time. If there is a next time,’ Jamie drawled. ‘I doubt it was the child’s fault though. It’s the people who use little ones for their own nefarious purposes who should be punished, if you ask me.’

‘Yes, of course. That’s what I meant.’

The man had joined them now and he nodded at Jamie. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr, er …?’

‘Kinross.’ Jamie sketched a small bow.

‘Mr Kinross, we’re obliged to you.’ The man bowed back. ‘William Miller, at your service.’ Jamie must have looked confused, because Miller added, ‘The lady’s stepson.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘I gather you’ve already met?’

Mrs Miller nodded. ‘At the Factory the other evening, when you had another engagement.’

‘I see.’ He sent his stepmother an impatient glare. ‘Well, perhaps this will teach you to hold onto your possessions a bit better in future, Zar.’

‘I was! They’re just so quick,’ she defended herself, but Miller had already turned away. ‘Besides, there was nothing of any great value in there.’

‘If you say so. Now may we go, please? I have a meeting later so no time to stand around. Good day to you, Mr Kinross.’

Mrs Miller opened her mouth as if she was going to protest, but then obviously thought better of it. She gave Jamie a quick nod, before hurrying off. ‘Thank you again, I’m in your debt.’

As he watched her walk away, Jamie almost smiled to himself. That she was.

Perhaps he should demand something in return?

Chapter Seven

‘Where have you been, Dev? I thought I asked you to be present yesterday during my meeting with our neighbour, the old Nawab of Bhalagat?’

The Rajah of Nadhur was once again striding around his chamber, while his younger half-brother sprawled on a mountain of cushions in a corner picking his nails with the tip of a dagger. Bijal watched silently from his usual vantage point by the window – present, but not really a part of the scene. The quarrel was between the brothers and he had no need to intervene. It was going very well without any interference from him, in his opinion.