Monsoon Mists (8 page)

‘That old bore. Why should I sit around all day watching him dribble while he eats? He’s disgusting,’ Dev drawled.

‘And you’re not? Drinking yourself insensible every night. Bedding every woman in my palace –
my
palace mind – and picking fights with courtiers who dare not oppose you because they fear the consequences. I’ve had enough of it, I tell you!’ Nadhur’s fist came down on a small ornamental table and sent a gaming set flying off in all directions. No one came to pick it up as all the servants had been banished for the moment. Nadhur had said he didn’t need any witnesses to this confrontation, which was probably wise of him, Bijal thought.

‘What else is there to do here? You make all the decisions and there are servants to perform every task. As I see it, it’s my duty to be seen to enjoy the privileges of being your brother.’

‘Privileges, is it? And what of all the money you’re spending? Don’t think I haven’t noticed that a few of my possessions have gone missing. Are you giving them to the moneylenders in exchange for coin?’

Dev shrugged. ‘So what if I’ve helped myself to an ugly statue or two. I’ve only taken the ones my mother told me she brought as part of her dowry.’

‘And what of the talisman? She most certainly didn’t bring that.’

‘Talisman?’ Dev looked up at last, genuine confusion in his gaze. ‘What do you mean? I wouldn’t take that. I may be bored, but I’m not unhinged.’

Nadhur glared at him. ‘So you deny “borrowing” it?’

Dev stood up and marched over to stand nose to nose with his older brother. ‘I most certainly do. Are you accusing me of something? Because I don’t find it amusing to be called a thief.’

They squared off for long moments, then Dev flung away and headed for the door. ‘What would be the point of me taking the talisman?’ he threw over his shoulder. ‘I’d be struck down by the gods, everyone knows that. If you’ve lost it, you need to look elsewhere for a scapegoat, brother.’

After his departure, Nadhur slumped down onto the pile of cushions so recently vacated by Dev and buried his head in his hands. ‘I don’t know what to think, Bijal,’ he muttered. ‘He always looks so innocent … no, guileless, and yet, I know he’s trouble personified. I want to believe him, but how can I?’

He lifted his gaze and stared straight at Bijal, who suppressed a sudden urge to squirm. ‘I don’t know, Highness. Perhaps a search of his quarters will put your mind at ease?’ And it would annoy Dev even more, furthering the rift between the brothers.

‘You may be right, although if he has taken it, I doubt he’d be stupid enough to conceal it there.’

‘I was thinking more along the lines of finding a promissory note, Highness. If he has exchanged it for temporary funds, that is.’

‘Ah, yes, of course. Very well, I’ll order a search.’

Bijal knew the Rajah’s men wouldn’t find anything and the whole exercise would leave him even more frustrated, as well as at odds with his brother. But he must remain firm of purpose, he told himself. He had no sympathy for this man. None. He was scum, as was his father before him.

When the time was right, the whole world would find out the truth, but not until all the omens were auspicious.

Zar rushed to catch up with William, but her mind was elsewhere. She was sure she’d seen Mr Kinross flip the little thief a coin before letting him go and she could only reach one conclusion – he’d bribed someone to steal from her so that he could appear in the guise of rescuing hero. But why?

They had already established that neither of them was interested in marriage. So he had no need to impress her, unless he’d been serious about wanting her in his bed? She drew in a hasty breath and almost choked on it as she inhaled a goodly amount of the ever present dust from the streets.

‘Are you all right?’ William stopped briefly to check on her when he heard her coughing.

‘Yes, fine. Dust … everywhere.’

‘You should have brought a handkerchief.’

Gallant as always, Zar thought sarcastically. Mr Kinross on the other hand … But Zar didn’t utter the words. She knew there was no point arguing with William. He’d never learned manners and it was probably too late to try to instil any in him now.

Her thoughts returned to her supposed saviour. Except, he was probably no such thing.
But he had been even more devastatingly handsome in daylight, his silvery eyes disturbing her equilibrium. She’d noticed he had eyelashes so dark it looked almost as though he’d used kohl to rim his eyes, the way Zar herself sometimes did. But he had no need of such artifice, his features were perfect without. His angular face, with its proud nose and sharp cheekbones, was deeply tanned, which made Zar realise he must have been in India or the Far East for quite some time. And she’d admired the rich colour of his hair – light brown, but glinting with both gold and copper highlights in the sunshine.

She shook her head. What was the matter with her? He was after something and falling under his spell wouldn’t help her.

But what did he want?

She was afraid she knew the answer, but what scared her even more was that she wasn’t as appalled at the thought as she ought to have been.

William cast a look over his shoulder at his stepmother, who was dawdling with a faraway expression. Stepmother? He almost laughed out loud, except it wasn’t funny. It was plain ludicrous. She was several years younger than him and marrying her had made his father a laughing stock. And him.

The whim of a senile old man which had cost William half his inheritance. The hurt this had caused was like an ever present canker inside him, growing daily, as was his frustration.

Damn her.

Of course he could understand that his father had been lonely after his first wife died. He’d not have begrudged him a new one, but why did he have to choose a girl barely out of the schoolroom? One young enough to be his daughter and much too clever for her own good. William’s position as favoured only child disappeared almost overnight. Instead, he was constantly compared to the newcomer, whose ability to learn things a woman had no business knowing was uncanny. It was unbearable.

‘Why do you persist in teaching her?’ he’d asked his father, when the old man crowed over her success while berating his son for his lack of wits.

‘Because she has a good head on her shoulders. You’d do well to try and emulate her, instead of falling for every trick the merchants try on you. Use your brain, boy!’

William didn’t believe he was that bad at trading, he’d just been a bit unfortunate. Whereas she – the hateful conniving little bitch – had the devil’s own luck. Well, no more. Her former husband was gone and William had to put a stop to this.

Zar was a thorn in his side in more ways than one. He’d noticed some of the merchants preferred to trade with her. He wasn’t blind. But by using her womanly wiles to make better deals she made William seem like a fool and that wasn’t something he could stomach.

His father’s will had stipulated that if she married within two years of his death, her new husband would only gain a quarter of the business, even though at present Zar was the owner of half. William didn’t know how the legalities of that worked. All he knew was that unless he wanted to lose more of his birthright than necessary, he needed to get her married off soon, whether she wanted to or not.

She’d refused every proposal so far, but William was sure there must be a way of forcing her hand. He just had to find it and then he’d be rid of her.

Jamie visited as many gem dealers as he could find and managed to slip the secret question into the conversation each time.

‘I wonder if the monsoon will bring mists this year?’

But no one gave the required reply. They merely looked puzzled. At first he thought perhaps it was his pronunciation that was the problem or the fact that not all the merchants spoke Hindi. He then tried using rudimentary Portuguese, as did most traders along India’s coasts, but still had no luck. So he went back, bringing his new servant to use as a translator, but even repeating the words in Gujarati seemed not to have any effect.

During a convivial dinner with Andrew, he mentioned the fact that he’d been to see a lot of local merchants. ‘They didn’t really have anything of interest to me, though,’ he added. ‘And I don’t think they were in the market to buy the sort of stones I’ve brought. They’re more suited to Europeans, so I’ll take them back to Bombay or Madras.’

‘What about the foreign merchants here?’ Andrew suggested. ‘There are a couple of Dutch ones I know of, and Miller, of course. They trade with the Persians and also send goods home to Europe.’

‘Miller?’ Jamie’s ears pricked up at the mention of this name.

‘Oh, yes, didn’t I say? The widow has a stepson who deals in most things – cloth, indigo, even gems – in partnership with her.’ Andrew grinned and took a large sip of wine. ‘Now there’s a tale …’

‘All right, out with it.’ Jamie smiled back. ‘I can tell you’re dying to recount the story of the “Ice Widow”, am I right?’

‘Absolutely. I’m surprised you didn’t ask me more the other night.’

Jamie didn’t tell his friend he hadn’t been interested at the time, having been so rudely dismissed by her, but now his curiosity was piqued. ‘Go on then.’

‘Well, as I’m sure you probably noticed, she’s of mixed parentage. Her father was an Englishman, Thomas Evans, who married a Parsee woman. A pretty piece, by all accounts, so who can blame him? Evans was employed here at the Factory for a time, but like many others, he was given his marching orders for misusing company funds.’

‘Really? Mrs Miller’s father was a thief?’

But Andrew waved a hand airily. ‘Technically, yes, but it happens all the time. The pay is so bad, you see, a lot of people here “borrow” some money from the company coffers and indulge in a little trading on the side, as it were. Most make a decent profit and pay back the “loan”, only Evans wasn’t very good at it so he was caught. He actually took the decision to leave before he was officially dismissed, and set up his own private business.’

‘I see. And did he prosper then?’

Andrew laughed. ‘Not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact, and then, understandably, he got fed up with India and wanted to return home. But there was a small problem – his daughter.’

Jamie frowned. ‘Why? And what about the wife?’

‘Oh, she’d died long before, which was just as well, I suppose. The daughter had grown into quite the little beauty though, just like her mother, but he couldn’t take her back to England for good. Apparently he tried it once and she stuck out like a sore thumb. Stands to reason, I mean, her looks and everything … Can you imagine her in Yorkshire? London maybe, but Evans was from the north.’

As far as Jamie was concerned, Mrs Miller wasn’t outrageously different from the wholly European women, but he had to concede she probably would stand out in a group of provincial English girls. ‘But surely, with such beauty she could have pulled it off?’

Andrew shook his head. ‘I doubt it and the old man was ashamed of her. The Lord knows why – he married her mother, for heaven’s sake, but anyway … He hit on another idea.’ He paused to take another sip of wine, no doubt hoping to build Jamie’s anticipation, then announced with a flourish, ‘He sold her.’

‘What?’ Jamie blinked at him. ‘I didn’t think there was slavery here.’

‘Not as such, no.’ Andrew chuckled. ‘What I meant was, he practically sold her in marriage to a very old man, Francis Miller. He must have been at least fifty.’

‘That’s not exactly ancient.’ Jamie found himself frowning again, although he wasn’t sure why.

‘It is if you’ve spent the larger part of those years in India. Trust me, he looked like a septuagenarian at the very least.’ Andrew gave a theatrical shudder. ‘Poor girl was barely seventeen.’

‘Sounds barbaric.’ And it was. Jamie didn’t even want to picture the couple in his mind’s eye. He could only imagine how she must have felt. ‘But it happens, even back home.’

‘I know, but still, can’t have been a happy day for her. She did well out of it though. The old man died a couple of years later and although he had a grown up son from a previous marriage, William, she inherited half his business. Don’t know if you’ve met young Miller yet?’

Jamie nodded. ‘Very briefly.’

‘Yes, well, he’s not exactly a trading genius, if the gossips are to be believed. Whereas Mrs Miller has a brain as sharp as they come and that’s probably why she was entrusted with half the company. Damn millstone round William’s neck though, wouldn’t you say? Having to work with a woman, I mean. The man was incandescent when he found out.’ Andrew smirked.

‘I can understand that, but perhaps now he’s discovered she’s an asset?’

‘Not according to him, but I don’t know.’

‘Well, thanks for telling me.’ Jamie lifted his cup of wine in salute. ‘I guess I’d better make an appointment to see them. Should make for an interesting meeting.’

Andrew laughed again. ‘Good luck, is all I can say.’

‘
Sahiba
,
you are wanted downstairs. The gentlemen wish to speak to you apparently.’ Priya stood just inside the door of Zar’s room, frowning. ‘Shall I tell them it’s too late and you’ve retired for the evening?’

Zar was tempted to say yes. William had been entertaining some of his English friends from the Factory and she’d heard their laughter echoing round the house. No doubt they’d have had their fair share of imported wine. Who knew how drunk they were by now? But if she didn’t go, William might take it into his head to come and fetch her. It had happened before and she hated having to deal with him when he was having one of his tantrums. Much easier to humour him briefly, then make some excuse and leave. He couldn’t be rude to her in front of guests.

‘No, I’ll go down directly. Thank you, Priya.’

As Zar descended the staircase she wondered what she would find. She hoped this wouldn’t take long.

‘Ah, there you are, Zar. Took your time as usual,’ William grumbled when she entered the salon. ‘Come, sit over here.’

She’d almost bumped into him in the doorway. Now he put his hand behind her elbow and steered her towards a low settee, where someone was already seated – Mr Richardson, a pompous man she had already refused twice in the last six months. He didn’t seem to be able to take no for an answer, but then she’d heard rumours that his trading wasn’t going very well and he was becoming desperate for a source of income.