Though the words were quiet, they carried a weight that settled deep in my chest.
My pulse thrummed and a sudden headiness suffused me—setting every nerve afire with the glow in her eyes.
I wanted to secure that cottage this very afternoon more than anything—especially with the prospect of waking up beside Kitty each morning.
“Your grandfather assured me of speaking to the governor.”
“Your request will bounce back and forth between offices,” I reluctantly admitted. Had my grandfather made the promise simply to keep her quiet? I hoped not, but I held out no hope for the governor helping. “Better to reach the nizam directly if we can.”
“You are not afraid of them?”
“No,” I told her. “We will find your mother, Kitty.”
We turned away from the stall and weaved back into the crowd. As we passed a spice vendor, I glanced to the left and caught a glimpse of Rajan moving just a few paces behind us, keeping up as he always did. But there was someone else—a figure farther back, threading through the market stalls, keeping a careful distance yet never losing sight of us. My instincts flared.
“Come,” I said, “I want to show you more of Calcutta.” We turned left and as I glanced over my shoulder, the man kept pace, gliding among the stalls. He caught my stare and paused at a booth where sticks of cinnamon and cardamom pods were tied into small bundles, their aroma mingling with the faint sweetness of jaggery blocks stacked neatly on one side.
My grip on Kitty’s arm tightened.
“We’re being followed,” I said under my breath.
31:Kitty
For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest; neither any thing hid, that shall not be known and come abroad.
LUKE 8:17
Later that afternoon, Sebastian said little as we rode through Calcutta within the slow carriage. The sun beat down hot and humid. Despite my linen gown, perspiration dripped down my back.
The city passed in a blur of color and movement. Vendors balanced baskets atop their heads, and barefooted children darted between carts laden with ripening bananas and towers of terra-cotta pots.
His muttered warning had raised the hairs on the back of my neck.
We’re being followed.
In a bustling city full of strangers, hardly anyone stood out. But I most certainly did in my British garb.
I twisted the scarf around my neck, seeking relief from the heat—or perhaps distraction from the fear clawing its way into me.
“I opened the wrong door this morning,” I said, keeping my tone light though my nerves tingled. “Julien’s room.”
Sebastian turned toward me, his brow lifting. “What were you doing near his room?”
“I was looking for mine in that labyrinth your family calls a home,” I answered pertly, then added, “I spied a figure on a table ... A statue. Of the goddess Kali.”
Sebastian snorted. “Julien’s taste in decor tends toward the theatrical.”
The huntsman trophies on the wall declared this to be true.
“Your family does not hold your faith? The Iron Colonel hides his atheism, but truly he believes only in himself.”
Sebastian cast me a sideways glance. “I fear I am the only one in my family.”
“Not entirely. You have me as well,” I answered.
He offered me another smile, the one side of his cheek dimpling—a far cry from our tense exchange the night before.
The carriage wheels clattered over a rough patch of road. Ahead, tall brick walls rose behind an iron gate. A warehouse loomed—sturdy, functional, unimpressive except for the weight it seemed to carry in the air around it.
