Monsoon Mists (2 page)

He shook his head. Childbirth was a risky business and it was in the hands of God.

Somehow, miraculously, the roads were passable. The landscape flew by, a glimmering blur in shades of white and silver, and after half an hour or so they entered the avenue of ash trees that led to Askeberga and which gave the estate its name. A medium-sized manor house, painted a cheerful yellow with white windows, it was mostly buried under layers of snow like everything else around it. The smoking chimney indicated the welcome warmth within though and the fact that at least some of the servants were up already. Hopefully his mother would be too as she was an early riser. Jamie flicked the reins for a last burst of speed towards the entrance steps.

The moment the sleigh swooshed to a stop, he was out of it and rushing up to hammer on the door with the side of his gloved fist. Then, taking the steps two at a time, he went down again, helping Lina out and up towards the door, which had now been opened.

‘Master James! What …?’

‘Please, fetch my mother. Now!’ He pushed the wet nurse past the surprised maid and slammed the door shut behind him. ‘And find someone to take care of the horses immediately.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Jamie, is that you? Is something wrong? Oh!’ Jamie’s mother, Jessamijn, had come into the hall and stopped at the sight of the woman holding a telltale bundle. ‘The baby, it’s arrived!’ She rushed over and bent to free the child from the outermost sheepskin and some of its layers so that she could gaze at the tiny face. Jamie averted his eyes. He knew what the baby looked like and didn’t want to see her again. Black hair, dark eyes, magnolia skin … Nothing like him. He took a deep breath.

‘It’s a girl and she’s to be christened Margot. Her mother is … dead. Please, Mama, will you look after her for me for a while? I have to leave. I can’t stay here, not now.’

Jessamijn stopped her intense scrutiny of the baby and came to put her hands on her son’s shoulders instead, looking him straight in the eye. ‘Jamie, listen to me. Whatever happened, you have a responsibility now. The farm, this baby, you have to take care of them and—’

‘No, Mama. I’ve left the farm in the hands of Nilsson. You know he’s trustworthy, a good man. And Karin will see to the funeral arrangements, I’m sure.’

‘But you have to attend! Elisabet was your wife.’ His mother looked shocked.

‘In name only. I’m sure the entire county is aware of the circumstances of our nuptials by now.’ Jamie gritted his teeth. ‘I can’t play the grieving husband while everyone laughs behind my back. I’m not that good an actor.’ When Jessamijn opened her mouth to protest further, he added, ‘Tell them I’ve run mad, whatever you want, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care what they think.’ He pulled a sheaf of papers out of an inside pocket. ‘Here are the deeds to the farm and a signed and witnessed document giving it all to Margot. I want nothing that belonged to Elisabet, nothing, do you hear me? I trust you to look after the child. When … if I can, I will return, but right now, I need to go as far away from here as possible. I’m sorry, but I can’t bear to stay. Please say you understand?’

He blinked and stared at his mother, so small and yet so strong. They had always shared a special bond, for he was her youngest son, her favourite, although she’d never said so out loud. And she’d been the only one who empathised with him, who didn’t try and curb his high spirits or wild ways. She didn’t now either.

Stretching up a hand to caress his cheek, she nodded. ‘Then go if you must, my love, but you
will
come back, understand? This is temporary, to give you a chance to regain your equilibrium, but it’s not forever. I expect better of you.’

He nodded, although he doubted he could follow her order.

She opened her arms and he embraced her, crushing her slight frame to him so hard he wondered afterwards if he’d hurt her. She hugged him back, then stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘Godspeed, Jamie. Take care of yourself, for me.’

She was wise enough not to mention the baby and as he stepped back out into the cold, Jamie hoped he could forget the little scrap altogether.

He couldn’t bear to even think about her.

Chapter One

Surat, India – May 1759

‘I say, it’s rather warm in here, isn’t it?’

‘Do you think so?’ Zarmina Miller swallowed a sigh and tried to resist rolling her eyes.
Here we go again.
Honestly, couldn’t he think of anything more original?

To be fair, the young man next to her – George Carmichael – was newly arrived from England to take up his post as writer, or junior tally clerk, to the English East India Company’s factors in Surat. It would probably take months before he became acclimatised to the Indian heat and, unlike her, he seemed to be in genuine discomfort. The months of April and May were the hottest of the year, with temperatures soaring daily and the humidity nigh unbearable. Zar could see perspiration pouring down the sides of Mr Carmichael’s face, from his temples all the way into the folds of his neckcloth, and his cheeks were mottled red with prickly heat rash. She guessed the itchy areas covered other parts of him as well and felt a pang of sympathy.

Still, it was the same excuse they all used to get her on her own. She swept a gaze round the large dining hall of the so called Factory, where this gathering was taking place, while she waited for the inevitable next sentence. It wasn’t long in coming.

‘Would you care to take a turn with me in the roof garden? I’m sure it will be much cooler up there.’

Zar could have given him a hundred reasons why she didn’t want to go anywhere with him, but thought it best to get this over with. ‘Yes, thank you, why not?’ she said in a falsely cheerful voice. In order to avoid taking his arm, however, she swept off in the direction of the stairs before he had time to register her acquiescence.

The roof garden wasn’t really a garden as such. It was just a large space, enclosed by a balustrade, with a few plants in pots and some benches placed at discreet intervals. A slight breeze whispered round the greenery, which usually made it a pleasant spot for a leisurely stroll in the evening, but at this time of year it was still stiflingly hot. At least to foreigners. There were times when Zar blessed the fact that she was a half-caste. The blood of Indian ancestors coursing through her veins gave her a distinct advantage when it came to coping with the weather conditions.

Zar glanced behind her and saw Mr Carmichael draw in a deep breath, as if he was relieved to escape the stuffiness of the room below. He wiped his brow with a large handkerchief and surreptitiously loosened his neckcloth a little, pulling it away from where it stuck to his skin. Then he hurried after her as she began to walk towards the nearest bench.

‘Shall we …’ he began, but Zar had already stopped.

‘Sit down? Yes, of course.’ She gathered her skirts and seated herself, spreading them out around her, which left him only a small space at the end of the bench. Normally she preferred Indian clothing, as it was much more suited to the climate here, but she had to acknowledge that English fashions came in useful for keeping suitors at a distance. The small hoop with its wide petticoat and overdress was a very effective barrier. If Mr Carmichael noticed her deliberate ploy, he was too much of a gentleman to comment, but he swivelled towards her as much as her gown would allow.

He cleared his throat. ‘I, er … understand you are a widow, Mrs Miller.’

‘Yes, that’s right. My husband died last year.’ Zar was sure he already knew this and much more besides, but she humoured him for the sake of politeness. No one ever mentioned her wealth; that would be plain vulgar.

‘Then you must be very lonely. It’s difficult for a woman on her own, I dare say.’

‘Not at all, I enjoy solitude.’

He looked baffled for a moment, then forced a laugh. ‘Oh, I see, you jest.’ Another guffaw. ‘Very funny, to be sure.’

Zar kept quiet. She’d learned that the less she said, the sooner the ordeal would be over and done with.

‘The thing is …’ Mr Carmichael cleared his throat again. ‘The thing is, Mrs Miller, I was wondering … that is to say, as you do not seem to have formed an attachment to anyone presently stationed here at the Factory, I thought … what I mean is …’

Zar wanted to scream.
For heaven’s sake, spit it out, man!

‘Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’ Mr Carmichael finally forced the words out in such a rush that, had Zar not been expecting them, she might have missed what he said.

She looked out over the balustrade to the more or less sleeping city around them and shook her head. ‘I thank you for your kind offer, but I’m afraid the answer is no, Mr Carmichael. I’m very sorry.’

‘I know it’s a bit sudden and we haven’t known each other very long. I own, perhaps, I should have waited a bit, but I thought that with you in such a precarious situation and—’

‘Mr Carmichael.’ Zar turned to him and pinned him to his seat with her most earnest gaze. ‘Please believe me when I say that
nothing
would induce me to marry at this time. I’m perfectly happy without a husband and should I need any male assistance, I have a stepson who can take care of anything I ask him to.’ No need to tell Mr Carmichael that William was the last man on earth she’d go to for help.

‘But …’

Zar stifled another sigh. Some men were incredibly obtuse. ‘I consider this matter closed, Mr Carmichael, and would thank you not to refer to it again. At any time,’ she added, just to make it perfectly clear.

‘I see.’ Mr Carmichael’s expression turned sulky, in the manner of a small boy, which did nothing to make Zar change her mind. He wasn’t bad-looking and she had no doubt he was a decent enough man, but she didn’t feel anything for him and couldn’t imagine marrying him, so she kept her eyes fixed on his. He finally seemed to understand and backed down. ‘Well, then, I suppose I should take my leave,’ he muttered.

Feeling sorry for his wounded pride, Zar took pity on him. ‘I thought you wished to take the air as it’s a bit cooler up here.’ She stood up and waited. ‘Shall we at least walk around the perimeter? There is a lovely view of the river in the moonlight.’

He hesitated for a moment, then offered her his arm, which she accepted, although she was careful only to place a few fingers on his sleeve with the lightest of touches. ‘By all means, Mrs Miller, by all means.’

Zar breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for that. Now perhaps she’d be left alone until the next new arrivals.

Chapter Two

Madras, India – May 1759

The so called ‘Black Town’ of Madras was an area to the north of the English Fort St George, laid out in a neat grid pattern of streets. As Jamie entered it late one afternoon, a fresh sea breeze made the air temperature bearable and went some way towards diminishing the usual city odours. He glimpsed the waters of the Bay of Bengal in the distance to his right, glittering invitingly. Although he didn’t notice the heat as much as he once had, having been in this part of the world for so many years now, the thought of a swim was still tempting. The fact that he was wearing native clothing kept him relatively cool though. He’d adopted the Mohammedan style – loose fitting trousers, a shirt with long narrow sleeves and a long coat, all made of fine white cotton. A turban protected his head from the sun’s rays, and the simple Hindu shoes that looked like slippers on his bare feet helped too.

He headed for the northern half of the town where Indian merchants and craftsmen had their newly built houses. Earlier in the year, during January and February, the French had besieged Madras. Their artillery fire had gutted most of the houses, especially in the Black Town, but buildings were springing up everywhere now the French were routed. It was with some satisfaction that Jamie recalled what he’d heard recently – the English troops were on the offensive, winning victories everywhere.

‘And good riddance,
messieurs
,’ he muttered. Not that he had anything against the French personally, but their infernal warmongering here hindered his trading activities. He’d be glad if they were evicted from the sub-continent for good or a peace of some sort could be agreed.

Passing whitewashed houses, some in a better state than others, he reached the one he was looking for. Its walls hadn’t been affected much by the recent fighting, although he noticed they were freshly painted, but the roof looked new in the fading light. Jamie frowned as he stopped in front of the closed door and listened. He’d expected it to be open, with the usual early evening activity, but no sounds emanated from inside the building. It seemed empty and lifeless.

He rapped on the door, his knuckles making a sound like a pistol shot. ‘Hello? Anyone there? Open up.’

Nothing. No footsteps, no voices, not a sound from within.

Jamie took a step back, puzzled, then went over to the house next door. An old man sat on the ground outside, cross-legged. When asked about his neighbour, however, he shook his head and without meeting Jamie’s gaze muttered, ‘Gone.’

‘What do you mean, gone? Where exactly? And why? Has he been arrested? Or do you mean there’s illness about?’

‘Don’t know. Just left. All of them, whole family.’ The old man still wouldn’t look at Jamie, which made the latter suspicious.

‘There must have been some reason.’ But he could tell he wouldn’t learn what it was from this man.

He went back to stand outside his friend’s front door. Akash was a lapidary and gem trader who had, rather reluctantly at first, taken Jamie on as an apprentice four years before. He’d stared at Jamie in disbelief when he arrived unannounced and asked to learn all about gemstones, but Jamie had stood his ground.

‘I’ve been told you speak some English and that you’re the best diamond cutter in town. I want to learn. Please, will you teach me? I’ll make it worth your while.’

‘Why?’ The one word and black gaze had told Jamie that Akash thought it the whim of a bored and spoiled rich man, which was partly true. But Jamie had other reasons for wanting to immerse himself in the world of precious stones. He needed to forget his old life, his former self, and fill his mind with new images and knowledge.