“The truth,” he said simply. “About the opium fields, the exploitation, the smuggling—everything. I can’t remain silent, Kitty. Not after what Edward and I uncovered.” He paused, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “You once said ideas travel further than any sword can reach. Perhaps pamphlets are needed after all.”
“And Sir Henry Russell?”
“I must tell him as well. If corruption reaches Hyderabad, he must know. But there are men who will do anything to protect their interests. We can’t stay in Calcutta—not with what I’ve written.”
His words stirred unease, yet also a strengthening resolve. “Where will we go?”
“I’ve been thinking of William Carey’s offer,” he said at last. “The mission, the schools. What would you wish, Kitty? This is your life as much as mine.”
I slipped my arms around him, resting my cheek against his shoulder. “Perhaps I ought to pray before deciding. I have acted too rashly before. No more.”
He turned, his hand finding mine. “Carey’s work offers purpose. And hope. If you choose it.”
“Purpose,” I echoed softly. “He mentioned a school for girls, didn’t he?”
A faint smile curved his lips. “He did. And I can think of no one better to lead it.”
His confidence both startled and comforted me. I thought of Caroline Herschel’s words, of her urging me to keep studying and to share what I loved. My gaze met Sebastian’s—no fear there, only belief.
“I would consider it,” I said. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Grandfather forbade such pursuits, and now they feel like freedom. I cannot imagine hiding from the world again. I want to live. To serve. To be with people.”
“It won’t be an easy life,” he said.
“I don’t care. I only want you. I want nothing to do with wealth or titles—it was all blood money, every shilling. Whatever we have with each other, it will be enough.”
He kissed me once before returning to his desk. With deliberate precision, he sealed each letter with wax and pressed the Sinclair crest into the warm surface.
“These will set things in motion,” he murmured. “I’ll likely remain the black sheep of the family forever.”
“Mail them at once,” I said. “We’ve lived too long under the weight of others’ choices. It’s time we make our own.”
He called for Rajan and instructed him to deliver the letters to Fort William, the residency, and my reply to my grandmother.
As the wax cooled, I knew it sealed more than correspondence. It sealed the truth that had remade us both.
I was not what I once had been.
By the grace of God, I was free.
39:Kitty
He broke through the barriers of the heavens.
WILLIAM HERSCHEL’S EPITAPH
Within days of sending Sebastian’s letters, a summons arrived, calling us to Government House. The sprawling grounds of Raj Bhavan seemed more fortress than residence. Majestic white columns supported the grand neoclassical facade, a mirror of England’s Kedleston Hall. The massive building stood at the heart of Calcutta, its sprawling gardens manicured to perfection, a stark contrast to the teeming streets beyond its gates.
A butler escorted Sebastian and me through the central portico to a grand hall beyond towering mahogany doors. Light poured through tall arched windows, glinting off the polished floors. Servants moved quietly along the periphery, their bare feet muted as they carried trays laden with refreshments.
Such refinement when outside the gates, poverty strangled the city.
The governor-general himself, Lord Hastings, waited in a private study. The room was a mix of Indian opulence and British decorum,with teak furniture softened by English upholstery. On one side, a Persian rug stretched beneath an enormous desk adorned with inkpots and quills, and on the other, shelves of books and ledgers climbed the walls, interspersed with busts of classical figures.
Sebastian and I stood before the desk as Lord Hastings, an imposing man in his early sixties, rose to greet us.
“Mr. Sinclair, Mrs. Sinclair.” His accent was clipped with the refinement of a lifetime of aristocracy. “You have brought matters of great concern to my attention. I must commend your candor.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Sebastian replied. He stood tall, though I could sense the tension in his shoulders by his rigid stance. Would Lord Hastings brush our concerns aside?
