Beguiled

Chapter 14

James woke to the rich smell of pipe smoke. He took a deep breath, stretched, and yawned. His head was clear; his body felt warm and light. Caroline slept with her head on his outstretched arm as he curled around her. The long, afternoon sunlight slanting through the windows played over her softly flushed cheek. James ran the backs of his fingers down it very gently. The redness of grief was gone. James smiled and held her close.

When she snuffled but didn't wake, James slid his arm out from under her and tucked the covers around her. He padded to the window but couldn't see the source of the smoke. Moving silently to his clothes horse, he changed out of his crumpled and sleep-damp linen. A new shirt and trousers made him feel fresh, although he still needed a bath. He found his coat and boots by the bed and drew them on. He patted his coat pocket to check that his smoking supplies were within and was reassured when he felt the shape of his pipe. He slipped out of the bedroom, leaving his mistress sleeping, and went to find his fellow smoker.

It was, as he'd expected, Mr. Singh, who was sitting on the back porch, overlooking the stables and park, as he enjoyed a pipe. James sat down on the step beside the Sikh, and raised a placating hand when the Sikh made to rise.

"Is all well now, sir?" The man asked carefully.

"Aye." James took out his pipe and wallet of tobacco, but before he filled his pipe, Mr. Singh offered him a small silver tin of loose leaf. With a nod of gratitude, James took two pinches and filled the bowl of his pipe.

"It comes from a village not far from mine in the Punjab. They call it bhang. More mellow than the leaf from the Americas. When I sit here and smell the bhang smoke, I could be walking again through the fields of my village at harvest time."

James smiled at the man's nostalgia. He lit the pipe and enjoyed the first taste of the aromatic smoke. He blew out a bluish puff, then pursed his lips to blow a smoke ring. "Do you never think of returning?" he asked.

The Sikh nodded his turbaned head. "Mrs. Grant's generosity has made it possible. But if we go, it will only be to see my mother, and my wife's family, then we will return to England. We are English now. My children speak and think in English. They go to English schools and have English friends. In time, they will marry English. My son will cut his hair. He will not wear a turban as did his father and his father's father. He may carry a blade, but it will be an English blade, not a kirpan. He may even go to war for the English, and fight against the Mughals. I see that time coming, when the English rule India, not the Emperor."

"The English ruled America," James observed. "Until the Americans kicked them out."

Mr. Singh's white teeth flashed between his beard and moustache. "Maybe someday my people will kick out the English. That would be a fine day."

James puffed on his pipe and nodded. "Yes, it would."

They smoked in silence for a while, until Mr. Singh asked, "Sir, if I may be so bold, where do you go, when you and Mrs. Grant sail?"

"The Azores first, and then America. Charleston, perhaps, or Philadelphia. I'd like to meet Mrs. Grant's brother."

The Sikh nodded. "Mr. Daniel Morris. He is a lawyer, in Philadelphia."

"Yes, I know. And he's accounted an excellent shot. I'd like to meet a dead-shot lawyer."

Mr. Singh chuckled. "It is very far away, Philadelphia, is it not? Many, many weeks by ship."

"Yes, usually nine to twelve weeks, depending on the current and wind, but we'll be sailing in winter. Storms will slow us, so it could be longer."

"That's a very long voyage, particularly for the young."

James lifted an eyebrow, wondering what the man was getting at. Did he think Robert too young to make such a voyage? "It is, but young children, even infants, make the crossing, although it may be hard on them. Younkers in His Majesty's navy start at twelve, and they sail much farther than the Americas."