Sally was sitting on the verandah of yet another wealthy merchant sipping tea and pretending to listen to the assembled ladies interrogating the duchess about London fashions and London scandal—as if Mama had kept up with such matters in more than a year away from the so-called polite world.
Calicut society had not improved in the past year. At least on this sojourn, Mama was well enough to take the lead on the polite social round expected of people in their position. Sally had merely to follow in her train and pretend to listen to the twittering of Mama's admirers and sycophants.
They would be leaving as soon as the weather allowed, but Sally's anxiety to be home was no match for her father's unwillingness to risk his ladies to the ocean when storms swept over it in succession, with barely a lull for the English residents to flock out into the wet parks and gardens and then be driven back indoors by the hot Indian sun.
Did David trust that she'd written, even though none of the letters had arrived? Her faith in him had wavered during the long silence Beckett had engineered. She could not blame him if he had doubts about her fidelity. Especially with the constant rumours that surrounded them both. In the three weeks since their ship had limped into Calicut between storms, more than one person had approached her to see if she was betrothed to Maddox, or to a Polynesian prince, or even to Mr Penchley.
She overheard even more, including a garbled account of Crowhurst's attack that had her consorting with a pirate and even assisting him to escape the righteous anger of her father, and the stories they told one another about David's activities surpassed even the nonsense they made up about her.
They resurrected some of the rumours of deviant behaviour and added to them. They declared that David had been entertaining himself with others in France, Italy, Greece, and places between. Jealous cats, her mother said, and Sally agreed, though she was a little shaken to hear some of the gossip from the lying letters repeated. What was the real story behind Toad's—David's—involvement with the Italian count's sister? And was the reconciliation with his father truly a front, and nothing more?
Sally didn't believe it. Of course she didn't.
But still... If only the winds would settle enough for them to go home.
"My lady." Mr Penchley stood before her, offering an arm. "Shall we take a walk around the garden? We may not have another opportunity this week." He gestured towards the looming clouds.
Why not? She had been careful not to encourage the poor man in his romantic inclinations, but his devoted and polite attentions had been a comfort since their journey home began. "Thank you, Mr Penchley."
They began a slow stroll around the rectangular gravel path that skirted the perimeter, framed by floral borders that grew luxuriantly in the damp heat. Aronui fell into position behind them, but today's guard clearly decided that Sally was in no danger in this enclosed garden, for neither man budged from his post; one by the gate at the side of the house, and one by the doors to the veranda.
Mr Penchley broke the silence. "They are jealous, Lady Sarah."
Sally cast him an enquiring glance.
"Those women who gossip about you behind your back. You are wealthy, well-born, beautiful, and intelligent. They want you to have flaws, and so they believe any story that makes you seem less than you are."
Sally sighed. "I have many flaws, Mr Penchley."
Mr Penchley shook his head, poor man. "Not in my eyes, my lady. But you do not wish to hear about that. Suffice it to say that your true friends know how to value you."
"You are very kind, sir. My father says you will go far in the service of your country." Papa—before Sally's rescue had made Penchley into his favourite staff member—had said that Penchley was a born diplomat, with an inborn sense of the right posterior to lick at that moment in time, a golden tongue, four times as much arrogance as his talents deserved, and the kind of charm that papered over generations of ill-will at the good fortune of others. Did his diagnosis of the motives of her detractors come from intimate knowledge of his own reasons for his continued malice towards Toad?
For some reason, the insight made her shiver, and Mr Penchley was immediately solicitous. "Are you cold, my lady?"
"Not cold. Not in this heat. A goose walked over my grave, Mr Penchley. It is nothing. Shall we re-join Mama?" Maddox had said Penchley was not to be trusted, and Aronui said the same. The maid would not even trust the man to walk with Sally alone in an enclosed garden. Sally cast a glance behind her and caught Aronui glaring at Mr Penchley's back. What had Mr Penchley done to deserve such a look? Sally raised her brows in question and then turned her attention back to Mr Penchley as he asked whether she was enjoying the lush smell of jasmine that enveloped them under the trellises that arched over the path leading back to the veranda.
As an experiment, Sally returned a slightly dismissive reply, sending Mr Penchley into a disparaging attack on oriental perfumes, compared to the subtler and altogether lovelier fragrances of England, that lasted until they re-joined Mama.
***
Sally dressed for yet another formal dinner. The Haverfords were staying at Government House as guests of the newly arrived Governor-General. Sir Henry Hardinge was a veteran politician and senior British army officer, and well known to Papa, who had been quietly helping His Excellency to establish his authority over the warring factions that formed his staff, and even the Council of four in whose name he ruled.
"He's a man of sense," Papa said, "and has no need of my advice. But it never hurts to talk things over with someone who has no stake in the game."
Sally could do with someone who had no stake in her courtship. Mama and Papa were on her side, unequivocally, but also on David's, now that Uncle Wakefield's investigation had cleared him of all but what Papa called "the most minor of peccadilloes." Sally, who had insisted on reading the final report, was not inclined to dismiss the Comtesse de Lodève in quite such kindly terms. Still—as she had stridently expected—most of the rest of the rumours had been invented out of whole cloth.
She snorted in disgust. Papa and Uncle Wellbridge should never have believed David capable of such perversions. Certainly, she never had; at least not once she had understood exactly what the gossips were implying.
Aronui interrupted her thoughts. She had been lacing Sally up and fixing her hair in unaccustomed silence. Respecting Sally's meditation, Sally had thought, but Aronui was clearly mulling over something of her own, because she said, "That Mr Penchley," and waited for Sally to pay attention.
"What has he done to annoy you now, Aronui? Just ignore him. Your place as my maid is secure, and his opinion doesn't matter."
Aronui shook her head. "He leaves me and Kahu alone since the Rangatira told him he must. He mutters things, but those who attend the Rangatira and Her Grace, they take no notice. They know that I love you, lady."
Sally smiled at her maid's reflection in the mirror. "And I love you and Kahu, of course." Mr Penchley would consider expressing strong emotions aloud to be very un-English; he had already proclaimed his dissatisfaction at Sally's affection for her maid and the woman's little son. Mr Penchley was an arse.
But Aronui was frowning as she twisted and pinned Sally's hair, creating an elaborate coiffure of ringlets she had learned from one of the settlers on Victoria Island. "I heard Mr Penchley talking to the lady with the big teeth and the one with pig eyes."
Sally knew who she meant—two of the worst gossips among the East India Company wives. "Saying what?"
"He says you are headstrong, lady. Let to have your own way, and so you have put yourself in danger many times. He says that Lord Toad was just the first to..." Aronui's hands paused as she looked upward, and then she met Sally's eyes in the mirror and dropped her tone into Penchley's fussy voice. "... breach the lady's cita— something. I do not know that word."
"Citadel," Sally suggested, watching her own eyebrows shooting up. Aronui nodded and continued to mimic Penchley. "Not my lady's fault, in any way but willfulness. She has not been guarded as she ought, and the world is full of scoundrels. With the right husband, she will be a magnificent asset."
"Penchley is a scoundrel," Sally said. "If I tell Papa what he said, he will be a penniless scoundrel abandoned in India. At the very least."
"He will say that I lie or that I misunderstood. The Rangatira is grateful to him for what he did for you when that man attacked us. The Rangatira thinks him a hero."
"He was a hero," Sally pointed out.
Aronui shook her head. "That man does nothing that doesn't give something back to him, lady. Do not trust him."
Sally did not trust him, and yet this conversation that Aronui reported was her first clear evidence that he was speaking against her. Even then, what he said could be interpreted as pompous rather than malicious. If one was feeling kind, one could even say his words about a lady believed to be unchaste were highly charitable. Sally was not feeling kind.
She went down to dinner still unsure what to do, only to find a familiar face amongst the dinner guests.
"Maddox!" She greeted her cousin with outstretched hands, and he took them and lifted one to his lips. "Cousin Sal, what a wonderful surprise. Are you also stuck until the next lull in the storms?"
Papa and Mama entered behind her, and Maddox greeted them as warmly. Like them, he was heading back to England, travelling as fast as conditions would allow. "The message from my brother Longford was already five months old when it reached me. My father suffered an apoplexy in April. When Longford wrote, he'd recovered consciousness and the doctor was hopeful, but that was six months ago. I may arrive to find my mother long since widowed, or Father might be back at his desk again, running the Chirbury business empire. Either way, I'm needed at home. I need to be home."
"Come with us," Papa suggested. "We have one of Bella's fastest ships, and another waiting at Alexandria."
The Governor-General approached before Maddox had an opportunity to do more than agree, his son at his shoulder, anxious for an introduction. "Charles is an admirer of your work," Hardwicke explained. By tacit agreement, the Haverfords and Maddox put aside their family concerns to perform their duties as guests.
Maddox made a fine addition to the Haverford charm offensive, Sally thought, with all the charm of his older brothers, Longford and Stocke, and none of the arrogance. He presented his arm to Sally when dinner was announced, and she was glad to take it. Beyond him, Mr Penchley came to a halt and turned away with a scowl. She had gone into dinner with Mr Penchley the night before; clearly, he had meant to offer again. Instead, she had Charles Hardwicke to one side of her and Maddox to the other, so was guaranteed excellent conversation with her meal.
"Maddox," she began, once they were seated, "please do tell me about the results of your calculations on this latest trip."
***
Penchley could not have been more pleased when the skies cleared, and Captain Thorne agreed that they could safely escape Calicut. The past four days, with Lord Maddox monopolising Lady Sarah's time, had been interminable. Surely, once they'd left him behind, Penchley would be able to build on the closeness he'd been reaching with Lady Sarah before Maddox turned up.
Slow and steady, he cautioned himself. If he rushed the lady, he would lose all. No overt displays of affection. No fulsome compliments on her appearance. She liked respect for her unwomanly talents, which he could manage. She turned to him for reassurance when yet another nasty rumour dented her irrational belief in Harburn's questionable fidelity. He would manufacture yet more stories and seed them where they would be sure to come to her ears.
As he stood on the wharf supervising the loading of the last of the baggage they'd used at Government House, he was calculating the time left to him. If he didn't have a wedding ring on Lady Sarah's finger before she was reunited with Harburn, he risked—not just failure; the complete destruction of his career. Once the two of them talked...
He had perhaps two and a half months, then. Time enough, surely?
"Mr Penchley!" The call came from Charles Hardwicke, who was hurrying towards him along the wharf.
"Mr Hardwicke? Is there something wrong?"
Hardwicke shook his head. "Just something my father forgot to tell His Grace. Where might I find him?"
Penchley focused all his attention on the young secretary. Something important enough to send the Governor-General's son scurrying to the wharfs? The urgent need to know the news Hardwicke carried prompted an immediate excuse. "I am sorry, Hardwicke. His Grace is settling his wife in their quarters and has left orders not to be disturbed. May I carry a message to him?"
Hardwicke hesitated, his brow furrowed. "Yes. That might be best. It's just... my father remembered that the duke was a close friend of the late Duke of Wellbridge, and His Grace might not know that His Grace is dead."
"Mr Penchley!" The sailor that interrupted gave a perfunctory salute. "Captain Thorne's compliments, sir, and can you board now, please? The captain is giving the order to cast off."
"Just a moment," Penchley told the man, who shrugged and raced off.
He turned back to Hardwicke. "Wellbridge is dead?" Which meant Harburn was now Wellbridge. Perhaps the pernicious blight of an aristocrat had met a timely end in Greece or Italy, but if not, Penchley was finished. Unless he married Lady Sarah.
"Yes," Hardwicke agreed, startling Penchley who took a moment to realise Hardwicke couldn't have known what he was thinking. "He died shortly before my father and I left England. Will you inform the Duke of Haverford, please, sir? And present my father's condolences?"
Penchley managed to agree, to shake the man's hand, to board the ship, and to find his own cabin, before he allowed his grief and anger at the unkindness of fate to overwhelm him. It was hours later that he felt enough in control to venture back on deck to reinvigorate his campaign to win the bride he'd chosen.
And the first person he saw when he entered the guest salon almost sent him howling back to his cabin. Maddox! How was Penchley to court Lady Sarah with her interfering cousin underfoot?