Читать книгу The Jasmine Wife: A sweeping epic historical romance novel for women - Jane Coverdale - Страница 10

Despite longing to see her own home, lunch at Lady Palmer’s at least put off the inevitable moment when she and Charles would be alone, for better or worse. She sensed he was feeling the same, as he didn’t even attempt an excuse when Lady Palmer insisted they join her for lunch.

The Palmers’ white stone palace was more like a public building than a home, standing with majestic grandeur in the centre of a neatly manicured wide green lawn, and towering over the surrounding houses of lesser public officials.

A pack of excited pugs ran down the front steps to greet them and, for the first time, Sara saw signs of genuine affection spreading over the proud features of Lady Palmer as she bent to kiss their wet, snuffling noses.

Lady Palmer presided like a queen over her staff of at least one hundred servants and, even while claiming she loathed being back in Madras, it was plain being able to command such power over so many was a huge comfort to her.

A group of servants hovering at her elbow looked at each other as though longing to escape.

Sara hid a smile. While Charles sipped his tea his mind was elsewhere, till he burst out, not being able to contain his thoughts any longer, “I thought Sabran was a bit thick with the compliments towards you, Sara, my dear.” Charles mimicked Sabran’s heavily accented tones, “‘It’s not often we have such a charming addition to our barbaric shores.’” I almost laughed out loud.”

Sara squirmed in her chair. What a fool she was, so easily taken in by a bit of fake charm.

“It was a remarkable coincidence though, Charles, his grandmother having the same name as the baby. Surely you can see that?”

“He most certainly made that part up. He probably already knew the child’s name, and I believe he was flirting with you. What a cad the man is.”

Sara was silenced for a moment, then she spoke up, a little fever in her heart telling her he was being unfair.

“He’s a Frenchman after all. Perhaps he thinks it’s expected of him.”

“Well, half a Frenchman anyway; the rest of him is pure Indian! And with all it implies.” His voice was raised just a little, but enough to show how deeply he felt.

“He was being kind … taking the baby …”

Her words were wasted. Charles was listening to something Cynthia was saying about Paris, but he patted her on the arm as though it should be the end of the matter. Sara was glad they had changed the subject as she wasn’t sure she could contain her temper, though there was no escape from the persistent thoughts buzzing around in her head like a trapped fly.

I should have taken the child … I should have taken her … The old man meant me to take her …

Lady Palmer drew herself up and pursed her lips. “No one knows where Sabran gets his money, but he’s most vulgar … He bought a house that rightfully belongs only to those of English blood.”

“I believe he bought it just to irritate us.” Cynthia sniffed.

Sara roused herself at last to respond. “You’ve been to his house? Is it far from here?”

“I most certainly have not been to his house! And I wouldn’t go even if he asked me … but those who have been there say it’s terribly common, and that he has all kinds of dreadful people staying there … Indians and God knows who else.”

Sara couldn’t help herself. “Well, it is India after all.”

Cynthia pursed her lips and looked for a moment remarkably like her mother.

“Even so, he has a bad reputation. They say he keeps a group of dancing girls … to entertain him day and night.”

The girl looked so excited by the lewd possibilities, Sara laughed out loud. “Surely you exaggerate. He must sleep some time. Poor man, he must be exhausted.”

Lady Palmer rushed to defend her daughter. “My daughter does not exaggerate!”

Charles whispered an explanation for Lady Palmer’s unusual attitude.

“It is Lady Palmer’s particular concern. She believes the dancing girls are responsible for the moral breakdown amongst some of our young single men.”

Lady Palmer’s lips had shrunk into a thin line. “I most certainly do. Waving themselves about, practically naked, in front of our boys. It’s outrageous!”

Sara felt a warning nudge from Charles, but her spirit rose within her.

She laughed again, trying to make light of the situation. “Well, I suppose I’ll find all this out when we go to visit the child.”

A teacup hit a saucer with a loud crash.

Charles cleared his throat and was about to speak, when Lady Palmer uttered the words for him. “You can’t be serious, my girl. You can never visit her … ever, especially not alone.”

“But Lady Palmer, times have changed. Why, in London now it’s not so unusual for a young lady to make visits alone, or to work, and even to have her own rooms.”

“Well, in that case she most certainly isn’t a lady!” Lady Palmer was emphatic.

Sara turned to her husband for support. “Well, I’m sure Charles will accompany me, to protect me from Monsieur Sabran’s rather florid compliments.”

She smiled, with not much humour, hoping to encourage Lady Palmer in a returned smile, but the woman only snorted her disapproval.

Sara watched Charles’s averted face, but there was no reaction.

“Charles?”

“Sabran isn’t received anywhere,” he said at last. “At least not in any decent home.” He lowered his voice to a whisper.

“He keeps a woman, but, instead of being discreet about it, he flaunts her, and she’s already married … She was with Sabran today …”

Sara remembered the glimpse of the beautiful face, one not easily forgotten.

“Her husband’s a very great Maharaja, and very useful to us in the collection of taxes from the farmers in his district. So you can see how I’m placed in a difficult position. He’s insisted I help return her, even though she’s the lowest of his wives.”

“‘The lowest of his wives!’ How cruel, if she means so little to him, he should let her go.’”

“It’s a matter of honour for him, and it’s not my place to have an opinion on the matter.”

“Perhaps he was unkind to her,” Sara persisted.

“I want to tell you more about Paris, Charles …” Cynthia had moved a little closer, hoping to turn the topic back to herself.

Charles mumbled an apology then returned to Sara. “It’s none of our business. My business is to return her to her husband, and Sabran flatly refuses.”

“He must love her very much.”

“Love! What a hopeless romantic you are, darling. He could afford a hundred such women. He keeps her to annoy me! That’s the sum of it. The man is arrogant beyond belief, and it’s not clear where he gets his money … We think he has some interests in opium …”

“Opium!” Now it was Sara’s turn to drop her cup too loudly on the saucer. “But if he’s so bad, why would he bother with a stray child?”

“Well, it’s not as though he’ll ever see it … One of his servants will take care of it, and he’s as rich as Croesus, and he takes good care to see we British won’t be getting any of it.”

She felt the frustration rise once more. “Even so, I must see the child once more, just to be sure. Then I’ll have discharged my responsibility.”

He spoke slowly, as if to give more weight to his words. “Darling, you must never visit him. Things are different here, it’s a small community and people talk. A woman’s reputation is very important, even more so than in England, and remember you’re the wife of the District Magistrate. We must set an example to the natives, otherwise they’ll lose their respect for us. Anyway, he’ll have forgotten about you by now. Your promises mean nothing to a man like Sabran.”

“He doesn’t seem to like you much either.”

“He has no reason to like me. We’ve clashed often over various legal issues. He simply won’t accept English justice … fights tooth and nail to defend the indefensible. But I don’t want to talk about him. I’d much rather talk about you.” He bent to kiss her again, giving her at the same time a particularly tender glance. “But we can’t avoid seeing him sometimes, even if I wish him gone to the devil. He’s managed to get his polo team to the finals. There’s the last match of the season in a few weeks and I intend to thrash the brute.”

“He plays well then?”

“Too well. So far we haven’t managed to beat him … But this time …” Charles banged his fist down on the table, making the teacups shake.

Sara was shocked by the anger in his voice. He seemed almost obsessively determined. “Is it really so important you beat him? Really, Charles, does it matter that much?”

He answered her with a silent nod, then turned away, the conversation at an end.

Charles rose to join Cynthia on the other side of the room, and Sara’s spirits sank within her. She unconsciously pulled at the neck of her blouse as she looked around Lady Palmer’s over-furnished drawing room. The brilliant day had lost its beauty, and what she had so recently thought exciting and exotic appeared shoddy, ugly and dull.

She toyed with Charles’s gift of jasmine she had tucked at her waist so to admire it better. Already it had turned brown and hung lifelessly from her belt, its once heady fragrance now sickly and rancid.