The next day, I entered the breakfast room with a throbbing megrim. I wore a linen gown of brilliant green, though I felt at odds with the cheerful color. Across the table sat Lord Sinclair, with his coffee mostly untouched. No sign of Sebastian. I had spent the rest of the evening weeping, pausing only when I heard a soft rattle at my door and Sebastian call my name.
But a sense of anger and pride kept me pinned within my bed, my legs unable to move, and my voice mute.
This morning, I resolved to head to the marketplace and ask about Hyderabad. Perhaps I could send a letter myself to the court.
“I have thought about your predicament, Katherine,” the older man said from across the table as I seated myself.
“Sir?”
He offered me a smile, far more charming than the Iron Colonel’s grimaces. “I’ll reach out to the governor this very day on your behalf. After all, it’s the least I can do for Colonel Grenville and his granddaughter.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Did your grandfather ever tell the tale of how he saved my life during the Chait Singh Revolt?”
I shook my head. Grandfather said hardly anything of consequence regarding his years in India.
“Ah, well,” he said, almost fondly, “it’s not one I share often—it makes me sound more fragile than I prefer to be remembered. But there it is. We served in the Northern Division. Word came that a sepoy company had mutinied—angry over withheld pay, I believe, and whispers that the Company was planning to reorganize the battalions. The situation turned quickly ... bloody.”
He reached for his coffee, swirling it in the cup. “I was acting as a junior attaché—full of confidence and blind to reality. I thought the skirmish was under control. Your grandfather knew better. He rode in with a dozen cavalrymen and cut a path through a mob that had surrounded our camp. I had taken a musket ball to the shoulder and was half-conscious by the time he pulled me onto his horse. He got me out alive. I still carry the scar. And the debt. More debts than one.”
He finished before meeting my gaze with deliberate gravity. “Say what you will about Colonel Grenville—he is a hard man, even an arrogant one—but he never flinched when duty called. He understood how power works in this country, and he made himself a part of it. I suspect you have a bit of that in you.”
I said nothing, uncertain how to feel.
Lord Sinclair set down his cup with a delicate clink. “Colonel Grenville was also a loyal man. He understood that there are moments in life when speaking out is brave ... and moments when silence is wiser. He knew the difference. It’s why he survived so long—and why he rose as high as he did.”
He studied me, his eyes sharp behind the polite smile.
“I imagine he would want the same for you, Mrs. Sinclair. Prudence.Caution. Not chasing after ghosts that might disturb matters best left undisturbed.”
I bristled, unsure if I was being advised or warned.
He continued. “This isn’t England. Here, things are ... layered. Political alliances shift like the monsoons, and a single careless word can travel from bazaar to court in a day. You are your mother’s daughter, yes. But you are also your grandfather’s legacy. And now, a Sinclair.
“I will make inquiries for you. Quietly. Discreetly. But let us agree on one thing, shall we?” He raised an eyebrow. “That you will not pursue this on your own. No questioning of strangers. No letters without oversight. I can assure you, Katherine, that every official in Hyderabad already knows who you are. It would be unwise to remind them.”
The weight of his words settled in the air like the humidity outside the windows.
“After all, what good is a secret, once it’s no longer kept?”
I had had enough of secrets. Instead of prodding him, I switched tactics. “Perhaps you can enlighten me regarding that year the colonel took me to England. My memory does not serve me well as to the events.”
Lord Sinclair steepled his fingers together. “It pains me to say this, but your father, James, was to be tried as a traitor to his country, with forced dismissal from the Company and, ultimately, banishment. He worked as a spy for both the nizam and the East India Company, eventually leaking British information. Your grandfather had no choice but to take you during that fateful season—quite a daring raid, I might add. The nizam would not readily give up control of two children of royal blood.
“However, confusion reigned in the area, distracting the nizam. The French were about to take the nizam under their wing, promising an army of fifteen thousand soldiers and the most advanced weaponry in all of India. The French captain Michel Joachim Marie Raymond led Napoleon’s conquest, forcing battles, plying favors, and spreading intoevery territory like gangrene. Your father held the court with fragile threads due to his knowledge of languages and perhaps his charm. He knew the power lay in the nizam’s harem and used it well.”
My cheeks flushed hot at my host’s scathing remark. This, of course, was news to me.
“You said my father had many enemies.”
Lord Sinclair nodded. “Traitors who sell themselves to the highest bidder usually do. Your father and the French captain were great rivals.”
The blunt words bruised my aching heart. I did not remember a villain but rather a flamboyant redheaded man, not unlike my mother with her infectious laugh and her playfulness with her children.
Perhaps Sebastian had not exaggerated the dangers in traveling to see her.
“What of this Captain Raymond?” I asked.
“Dead. Poison, from what I’ve heard, shortly before your father died,” Lord Sinclair said before picking up his cup. “And the nizam soon abandoned the French army without a clear leader, and wisely chose British protection.”
