Page 27 of A Modest Independence

“To think I trusted you,” she said. “That I actually believed you when you—”

“Ah, look,” Tom interrupted. “There’s Ahmad and his cousin.”

“Who?”

“The servants I hired on your behalf.”

She turned to look down the pier. “What servants? I specifically told you that I didn’t wish to travel with servants.”

“No. What you said was that you didn’t wish to travel with British servants.” He raised a hand to Ahmad and Mira.

They were standing a short distance away, looking at Jenny with vague suspicion.

A native of Delhi, Ahmad Malik was a tall, muscular fellow with jet-black hair and obsidian eyes. Up until last evening, he’d been employed as a bully boy at Mrs. Pritchard’s establishment in Whitechapel. On any given day, he could be found tossing unruly clients out into the alley. It was how Tom had made his acquaintance. Ahmad had tossed a wealthy baronet a tad too roughly, breaking the gentleman’s shoulder in the process. The baronet had tried to have Ahmad sent away for it. And he might have succeeded if Tom hadn’t intervened on Ahmad’s behalf.

Tom’s acquaintance with Ahmad’s cousin, Mira Malik, was of shorter duration. She was a quiet girl. Slightly fairer than Ahmad, with eyes of a singular olive green. She too had been born in Delhi, and she too worked at Mrs. Pritchard’s, first as a maid, and then as a laundress. Word was that the proprietress was anxious to promote her to another position—one to which Mira was most vehemently opposed.

Both had been more than ready to abandon Mrs. Pritchard’s for the employ of Jenny Holloway. Though judging by the looks on their faces, they were still reserving judgment on their new mistress.

“Jenny?” Tom said as they approached. “This is Ahmad and Mira Malik. I’ve taken the liberty of employing them to act as manservant and maid during your journey. Ahmad. Mira. This is Miss Holloway.”

Jenny sent Tom a look that could have withered an oak tree. “Indian servants, I see.”

“And very well suited to their new positions.”

She didn’t respond to him, turning instead to address Ahmad and Mira. “And how is it that the both of you know Mr. Finchley? I don’t suppose he saved one of you from being hanged?”

“No, madam,” Ahmad said solemnly. “It was from transportation.”

Jenny gave a tight smile. “Of course it was.”

Calais, France

February, 1860

Crossing the English Channel was every bit as miserable as Tom had warned. Even worse, in fact. The rain started not long after departing Dover. The roiling sea seemed to rise up to meet it, tossing the ship about in a most alarming fashion.

Huddled in her cabin with Mira, Jenny strove to endure the tempest with creditable fortitude, trying her best to set an example for her newly acquired maid. It wasn’t easy. Indeed, several times she feared she might disgrace herself. Fortunately for her stomach, the entirety of the journey was completed in less than two hours.

Their party disembarked at Calais looking somewhat the worse for wear. Jenny’s silk dress was wet with rain and sea spray. Mira was faring little better. Her skirts were drenched and her hat appeared to have wilted on her head.

Tom took one look at the pair of them and decided that they would all stay the night in Calais. After clearing their baggage at the Custom House, he found them lodgings at a little hotel situated near the marketplace.

“Rest awhile,” he said when they parted ways at the door of her room. “We can have supper later, if you like.”

Jenny was still angry but didn’t have the strength to argue. She was tired and hungry and chilled to the bone. If Tom wanted to take charge for the evening, he could do so with her good wishes.

Once in her room, she quickly stripped out of her wet clothes. “There seems little point in engaging a cabin,” she muttered, “when one gets this wet regardless.”

Mira hovered around her. “Shall I help you, madam?”

Jenny stepped out of her skirts “You may help me by taking care of yourself. You’re wet through, Mira. You’ll be no use to anyone if you catch your death.” She unfastened her crinoline. “And do cease calling me madam. I was practically a servant myself until last year.”

Mira looked doubtful.

“It’s true,” Jenny said. “I was companion to Lady Helena Reynolds, daughter of the 5th Earl of Castleton. She married in September and no longer has any need of me.”

Mira unhooked her jacket bodice and struggled out of her wet sleeves. “You were dismissed?”