Page 122 of A Modest Independence

“That, and about reaching our destination.”

On their final day in Jhansi, Ahmad had gone back to the mission to get the direction of Mrs. Kumar’s former assistant, Zaina Chatterjee. According to Mrs. Kumar, the young woman’s parents worked at a tea plantation atop the Senchal Ridge.

The native official at the staging area in Siliguri had claimed to know the place.

“Senchal,” Ahmad had translated. “He says it means the hill of mist and fog.”

The words had sent a thrill of excitement down Jenny’s spine. The hill of mist and fog. It sounded a magical place. An Indian Avalon, of sorts.

Since learning of its existence, Jenny had been in anticipation of awe-inspiring scenery and cooler mountain weather; however, thus far, it had remained as stifling hot as it had been in Jhansi. As for the sights, she hadn’t managed to see very much. The road ran through a tangle of jungle and swamp. The canes and grasses were thrice as high as she was herself, and over the whole of it a heavy mist had settled, obscuring all but the occasional glimpse of the plains below and the majestic mountains above.

“It’s not but six miles more,” she said. “And yet the gentleman at the bungalow said we wouldn’t arrive for another eight hours, at least.”

“It’s because we’re not going in a straight line. The road winds around in a circuitous fashion. It makes the journey four times as long.”

“I wonder at what point we’ll see a change in the weather?”

“Soon, I expect. We’ll be grateful for these.” Tom patted the stack of folded blankets that lay in readiness between them. A native gentleman at the last station had been pressing them on the elderly travelers, warning of cooler weather ahead. Ever practical, Tom had insisted they purchase a few for themselves.

It seemed extraordinary that they would need them. At the moment the sun was beating down, unrelenting, on Jenny’s parasol. She’d already twice soaked her handkerchief in water so that she might blot her face and throat. The thought of a blanket only made her perspire more.

“I do hope Mira’s faring all right.” Jenny eyed the cart behind them with concern. Ahmad and Mira rode together in the back of it along with the rest of the luggage. “The heat doesn’t agree with her.”

Tom looked at Jenny. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How are you faring?”

“Oh, I don’t mind the heat. It’s the dust I can’t abide. There’s gray grit everywhere. In my hair and all through my clothes. It seems to float straight up from the soil” She gave her skirts a half-hearted shake. “You don’t suppose we’ll be able to order baths at the plantation, do you?”

“We may not be staying at the plantation.”

She gave him a sharp glance. “Do you think they’ll turn us away?”

“They might. We don’t even know which plantation it is yet. Not to mention the fact that the Chatterjees may have long moved on. It’s been two years since their daughter volunteered at the mission.”

“Two years isn’t so very long.”

“It’s a lifetime.”

Jenny refused to be discouraged. “Well, if they don’t welcome us at the plantation, we’ll simply have to find lodgings elsewhere. Someplace we can stay while we make inquiries.”

Tom’s mouth quirked in a faint smile. “Someplace that offers a full bath.”

“At this point, even a sponge and basin would suffice.” She couldn’t bear the grit and dust clinging to her perspiration-damp skin. Some of it had even managed to find a way into her corset, settling there in the most disconcerting way. “If all else fails, I’ll find a river to throw myself into.”

Within another two hours, the idea of bathing in a river had lost its appeal. The fog dissipated as they ascended the road, and a delicious coolness set in. Another hour more and Tom was draping a blanket over her.

The oil lamps on the bullock cart swung lazily in the darkness, illuminating the path ahead and behind in shifting shadows. No one could see the two of them in any detail. Not enough to object to a slight familiarity.

Jenny slipped her hand into Tom’s.

His fingers closed around hers, warm and strong. “Is this enough of an adventure for you?”

“Rattling along a mountain pass in the back of a Himalayan bullock cart? You’re teasing me, but the answer is yes. I find it suits me very well.”

“You wouldn’t rather be back in a railway carriage?”