Discovery of Desire (21 page)

“You like,
Bali
?” The vendor hurried to uncover a platter painted with pink camellias. The flowers were flawless. Beautifully rendered.

And damned familiar.

“Wait, wait,” the vendor said. “I will show you a finer piece.” He turned and presented an English cup and saucer with violets blooming along the rim and Seth's heart slammed to the top of his skull.

“Where?” The word wasn't more than a croak, but he pointed at the violets, at the blue paint. Layer after layer had been applied to get that shade. Not Prussian blue, not any pigment that would fade. That was ultramarine or lapis lazuli. Only a painter particular about her materials would use pigments that dear.

A painter like Georgie.

“Very fine.” The vendor bowed his head. “Very beautiful,
sahib
. Your lady will like very much.”

But Seth wasn't listening. He pulled out Georgie's journal and flipped till he found the drawing of the pink camellia. He showed the page to the merchant and pointed. “Do you see?”

He turned it to all the merchants and native people who had come to look at the drawing and down at the camellia platter Seth pointed to. There was always a crowd about him. He swept the book around to show them all. “My sister painted this.”

Seth shoved the journal under his arm and pulled out Georgie's lost poster, written in English, Hindustani, and Marathi.
One of them will understand what I am trying to say. Please, God.

The linen vendor read, then clapped his hands. “Ah,
Mala mahiti hota
.”

He translated the poster to the pottery vendor, who began to nod vigorously and gestured for him to hand him the poster. Flipping the paper over, the pottery vendor began to write what looked like a map. “You will go to Thana, and find Mr. Banik.” The pottery vendor looked around him. “
Samira kothe ahe?
Where is Samir?”

Seth looked from one man to the next, and other voices chimed in and pointed in different directions. He searched their faces, trying to understand. Did
they
understand? “Who is Samir and Mr. Banik?” he asked again, pointing to the painted flowers. “Please.”

The linen merchant stood to look at the directions on the poster. “Calm,
Mahabali
. He writes Mr. Banik's painting factory is in Thana. It is twenty or twenty-five kilometers. A carriage can go in three hours. Samir is the pottery seller's son.”

A young boy was pushed forward.

“Samir, do you know Mr. Banik?
Tumhi Sri Banik na olakta ka?
” The pottery vendor demanded, and the boy nodded. “You will go to Mr. Banik's painting studio. The fat man needs him.”

The young boy beamed a cheeky smile and nodded. “
Sahib
, we will go to Thana. You have money to pay for coach?”

Seth stared down at the lad. Seemed he was taking a trip to someplace called Thana.

Three hours later, along a well-traveled northern road with a lad eager to practice every word of English in his clever head, Seth alit from the carriage onto Thana's one main road. And there wasn't a word of English here. Might have been smart to collect Tom from the hotel.

Hell. He was a hired explorer, he was adaptive, and he had a miniature translator right here in Samir.

Samir darted off, stopping only to beckon him to follow. “
Sahib
. Come.”

Seth nodded to the coach driver and raced after him. The lad led him down one crooked alley after another. Dizziness spun him. He hadn't been able to eat all day and weak with hunger as he was, his lungs were screaming to rest. He gripped Georgie's journal tighter and ran on.

Samir came to a sudden stop at a wooden door. The Banik painting studio. Seth's pounding heart wasn't given a second to recover. The lad flashed his brilliant smile and slapped on the door for entrance.

A paunchy Indian man in a white tunic and a sad-eyed woman in a
sari
that was tight about her softening waist stood side by side and blinked at him. “Yes?” the man said. “What can I do for you,
sahib
?”

He fumbled with Georgie's poster and thrust it forward. “Do you know this woman?”

The old man read it in silence for a long time. The woman watched him with an unreadable expression.

“She's my sister.” Seth looked from one to the other. “I've been looking for her. She's lost.”

“He is
Mahabali
,” the boy piped, before spouting off a flurry of Marathi.

And the Indian man looked up from the poster and nodded. And then he laughed. “Come in, sir. We can help.”

Rigid with hope, Seth stepped into the tiny reception room. Through a sheer curtain, the workroom revealed the backs of three men.

And a woman with short, blond hair.

“Jayna?” The Indian man called.

The woman turned and looked at him with eyes the same color as his own. And then his own eyes blurred behind too many tears to see anything else.

“Seth!”

His sister ran toward him and hurtled herself into his arms.

“You don't work for them any longer, Seth. It's no wonder they refused.” Georgie said. “East India wouldn't extend me a line of credit, either. What did you expect them to say?”

She was taking his failure better than him. After moving Georgie and Aimee into a room at Benson's Hotel this morning, he'd visited the Company offices to ask them to credit him the upgrade for a first-class passage on the next ship to London for his sister. A director had spared him two minutes to make his case, then for the next quarter hour held forth on his reasons for refusing the request.

Seth fidgeted with his coffee. He'd not taken a sip since Georgie set it down in front of him a half hour ago. “I was their man in Brazil for twelve years. Sent back over a hundred medicinals. I had my good-for all written and signed, and once I'm in England”—with Mina, with a
chance
to be with Mina—“I'd pay them back.”

And he would. He wasn't cursed; he couldn't be with Georgie alive.

“Once I'm home, some of my seeds should have sold—at least a few. And the orchids, too. I'd get the money to pay them back, in any case. Told them I just needed a bit.”

“I don't understand why they won't allow us to sail in the same class. We have enough for that.”

“Women and babies shouldn't be sailing steerage.”

“
Shouldn't
.” Georgie smiled. “Aren't
allowed
, you mean.” She dipped her head to smile at the baby in her lap. “After our weeks choking down yak butter and sleeping in yurts, our standards far exceed steerage or second class. Don't they, Aimee?”

“Women and children sail first class,” he mumbled. “And you should.”

She snickered and shook her head, her short blond hair swinging.

Seemed all he did lately was stare. It had been a week since he'd found her and still he couldn't believe his eyes. Georgie was alive and safe and looking so much like the sister he left in Matlock, they might have parted from each other yesterday.

“Did you have to cut your hair that short?” His voice was gruff with feeling, but it was a miracle he managed conversation at all.

“You would have hated it months ago then. It was the best way to hide the color.”

“In Tibet?”

“Tibet, China, everywhere.” She eyed his hair. “Appears you've been robbing the barber for months.”

He combed his hair off his brow and smoothed it as neat as he could.

“It doesn't look bad,” she said gently. “But you've always been more handsome with shorter hair.” She grinned and he caught a glimpse of ten-year-old Georgie. “Do you wear it long for the ladies? Did Mina sigh over her big, strapping Viking?”

He reddened and shrugged, feeling more like her
younger
brother. “Maybe you can cut it for me?”

Georgie nodded, pressing her lips against a smile. “Anytime you like.”

The little orphan stared at him with curious eyes. He was still a stranger who had infiltrated the world she shared with Georgie, but she was slowly growing accustomed to him.

“Little Aimee's hair is near as long as yours.” He mugged at Aimee and she smiled her toothless smile. “You said she was too small to sail before. You think she'll be all right now?”

Georgie smiled down at her. “She'll be fine.”

“And you'll be fine with that reward of twenty thousand pounds waiting for you.”

The smile slipped from Georgie's lips. Aimee bounced on her lap, wanting her attention. “That can't be real. Who offers that much money for the return of a child they've never met?”

“That's what happens when you rescue the great-grandniece of a titled lady.”

“And the lady's a marchioness?”

“Marchioness or countess, I forget what Will told me. She's got a handle on her name in any case.”

Georgie turned the baby to study her face. “Aimee is gentry. I wonder if she has a title, too?” A cloud passed over his sister's face. “She'll be well taken care of, won't she? Far better than I could do.”

“I don't know about that.” He reached for little Aimee and the baby went wide-eyed with surprise at being lifted by him. “You're looking hale and hearty to me, Aimee.”

The baby smiled hugely, catching his nose.

And he fell a little bit in love with her.

He settled the baby on his lap. “Posted a second letter to Will Repton, too. He's been starved for information.”

“Let's hope he receives it. I sent one months ago, but I've no idea if it reached him. I thought it better to save money for the passage.”

“You shouldn't have had to scrimp and save. I should've schemed out a better plan—”

Georgie grabbed his arm, smiling at him. “I wouldn't have counted on my being alive, either.”

“That ain't funny,” he grumbled. “I'm sorry, Georgie. I wanted Minnie to have all I could manage to give.”

She sighed and shook her head. “I know. You always were hopeless when it came to women. I'm eager to meet her when we're back in London.”

He smiled. That was one of his favorite fantasies. Knocking on a cottage door, the sun warm and flowers in a window box. And Mina spreading her arms wide in welcome. And then he'd get to tell her he'd found his sister and Aimee alive.

“She'll be surprised,” he said. “If her ship had just left a day later—”

Georgie took Aimee back and set her down on the bed. He hadn't noticed the baby nodding off to sleep on his arm. His sister had become a mother.

“The reunion will be all the sweeter, then,” Georgie said. “Lovers parted—”

“We weren't lovers.” His face warmed at the lie, but better Georgie not imagine any sort of…future for them. But if all his seeds lived, if they sold…

He sat up straight. “Don't worry. I'll get the passage for us. And real soon.”

Georgie nodded, but he caught the doubt in her eyes. His sister knew him well. He wasn't a man who took care of things.

“Hullo, there? Mayhew? Are you in?” Tom's voice sounded from the hall and Seth rose to open the door.

Tom nodded at Georgie. “I'd not expected to see you, Georgiana.” He softened his voice, seeing Aimee asleep.

“Come in, Tom.” He motioned him to a seat. “We've got a kettle on.”

“Thank you.”

“I'll take Aimee to our room.” Georgie took the baby and left them with a nod.

“How did you fare with John Company this morning, Mayhew?” Tom asked.

Seth shook his head.

Tom sat back in his chair. “They're impossible, the lot of them. But I'm glad they refused. Now you have no choice but to allow me to pay Georgiana and Aimee's passage.”

He frowned in surprise. “No, Tom. I can't take that.”

“You can and will. I know you gave a great deal to Mina and Emma. Just a bit too much, it seems.”

“We'll be fine—”

“I insist,” Tom said. “I've been feeling all the guilt that's my due. I should have done more to keep them here, should have protected them but…” He shook his head.

“Minnie wasn't ever yours to protect.”

Tom slanted a look at him. “As you remind me often.”

“I won't lie. I didn't want her here. Malaria was just a matter of time, and you never know how a body recovers from that.”

Tom lowered his head and nodded. “Still, I didn't offer for her. I failed her and I don't really know
why
…or how I could.” He paused. “You and Repton paid me a great deal for very little work. Don't refuse this money, Mayhew. If you do, I'll just buy the passage myself in their names.”

Seth stood, shaking his head. Then pulled the man into a hug. “Ah, hell, Tom.” He chuckled. “Why don't you just admit you always liked me?”

Tom chuckled but hugged him back. “You were the very devil at times, man, but yes. I admit I'm glad to know you.”

Seth patted him on the back. “See? That wasn't so painful, was it?” He sobered. “Thank you. For all the help.”

“It was poor help I gave.”

“I'll call on Mina when I get to London and I'll not let a mail pass without sending news, all right?”

Tom looked out the window, his spectacles white with the glare. “Actually, there won't be a need for that.”

“Won't you want to know how they're faring?”

“Yes, but you'll not need to send me letters.” Tom turned to look at him. “There's something else I came to tell you.”

There were areas of London as desperate as the slums of Bombay. Where people died like flies, and thieves and prostitutes lived cheek by jowl, and no police dared to venture alone. Mina and her sisters didn't live there.

They were on the other side of the street.

Mildmay Park was a bit tumbledown, but it wasn't Bethnal Green. On her first day back in London, four months ago now, Mina knew she had to get Mary and Sebastian out of there. And that had meant using a little of Seth's precious money.

They must be frugal, but there were limits to what women and a four-year-old child should bear.

“You're not eating your supper, Mina,” Emma said.

The slice of eel pie was no more appetizing now than five minutes ago when it had been hot. Emma tried to cook appetizing meals for their little family with their small budget, but her talents were not for the kitchen.

“Sorry, I was a world away.” Mina picked up her fork and forced down a bite.

Mary said nothing, as usual, but ate every last bite on her plate—just as she required Sebastian to do, along with his milk and vegetables. After the fright of his illness and their uncertain living, Mary approached every meal with a sort of humble reverence.

Or, in light of Emma's cooking, with humble submission.

Mina cleared her throat, the sound loud in the room. Their suppers were already conducted in monastic silence. To not disturb a sleeping Sebastian was a convenient excuse. But in truth, there was often nothing to say that would not lower them further.

Emma's voice broke the silence. “You mustn't force yourself to finish if the pie does not appeal.”

“No… I… Thank you, Emma.” Mina tucked into her plate and finished before her sister could pluck her plate away in a fit of pique.

She carried the plates to the sink and cleaned up quietly in the dark, the small candle on the table guttering. Thank goodness the sun was not setting so quickly now that spring had come, but the lamps would still need to be lit this evening, as they had sewing to do.

If they economized, and continued to get their needlework as they had this past month, they would be fine. But she had to find steady employment soon. She was not skilled enough for dressmaking but this slopwork she was given—this week, for workingmen's shirts—was too sporadic for her comfort.

Everything was so costly. Sebastian's doctors, especially. They could not allow the damp and chill to find him again. That desperation had sent Mary into the streets before. They mustn't allow that to happen again. But if Sebastian were sick or hungry, who could stop her?

Mina shook her mind free of that nightmare. Their situation was not that dire. Together, they would survive.
If
they stayed together. And if there were some unforeseen emergency, as there already had been…well, there was Seth's money.

Shame heated her. They
would
return his money and pay him back the eleven pounds they'd borrowed. In time. How they would manage to, she didn't know yet. But in time, they would.

They had pinched off just enough of his funds to survive, to eat, to stay warm, to shelter Sebastian. And as soon as they could…as soon as he returned—

Where are you, Seth?

She had no time for such ponderings. She snuffed the candle. But as she did every night, she let the memories of his grin, his warm arms, and his low, rumbling voice light her within. There was no dousing her memories.

Even if they were not to be together, what harm was there in remembering? Life in Mildmay Park was bleak enough. She could allow herself that little comfort.

Mary was already at her sewing, so Mina turned up the lamp and threaded her own needle. Emma joined her with pen and paper.

“Who are you writing to?” she asked.

Emma paused with her pen poised over the paper. Her chin lifted a fraction. “A Mister Ingram. He is an attorney who champions the cases of indigent women who have been ill used or abandoned.”

“You are not exactly indigent—”

“My means are limited, and he is acquainted with law-persons and charges. Perhaps he could assign a solicitor or even an apprentice to…”

She had expected Emma's temper to ignite, but her sister's voice faded with doubt.

“Emma,” Mina started gently, “Mr. Rivers's behavior was inexcusable, but your claim will not incite any great interest. Not when the restitution would be so paltry a sum.”

Emma didn't lift her head. “I can't forgive him, Mina. I don't know why.”

No, she had not forgiven. Her anger had only grown in the four months since she'd last seen Colin Rivers. “You're tired, Emma. Why don't you save that letter for tomorrow?”

To her surprise, Emma capped her ink. “Mr. Mayhew would not think hiring a solicitor a squandering of money.” She held up a hand to silence her protest. “I know—we will return every single farthing. But I daresay this is not how he envisioned us living.”

Mina said nothing. They'd had this argument enough.

Just once, she would appreciate support from Mary's corner. The lamplight cast a golden glow on Mary's placid countenance, but that was illusion. Mary was still pale, and was so devoid of spirit and speech, she seemed to have no opinion on any matter.

“We are living fine, Emma,” Mary said.

Ow
. Mina's needle sank into the pad of her finger at her surprise in hearing Mary's voice.

Mary didn't look up from her work. “Mr. Mayhew may have envisioned different surroundings, but I will be the first to fall to my knees and thank him for saving me from the workhouse.
That
was the living I envisioned for me and Sebastian before his generosity spared us.”

Emma blinked furiously and put away her paper.

“There is little enough charity in the world, Emma.” Mary's voice was flat. “No one will help you. The sooner you surrender your campaign of revenge, the better.”

“It's not revenge,” Emma said. “It's justice.”

Mary said nothing, just applied herself to her needle as if she'd never spoken at all.

What would justice mean to Mary? Was there justice in a world for a woman who lost her husband before their child was born? Who could work and work, and still not feed and house her son?

“Mr. Mayhew would want me to bring him to justice.” Emma sliced a strand of the thread with her knife and tested the seam of the piece she worked on. “Wait and see when he calls on us.” She smiled at her. “He is sure to come any day and sweep Mina away—”

“Don't, Emma,” she said.

Emma's smile fell. “He will, Mina.”

Mary's hands stopped in their work. “I think I hear Sebastian.” She set aside her sewing and walked into the bedroom.

Mina waited for the door to close before looking at Emma. “You've upset Mary.”

“What did I say?”

Guilt and frustration flooded her. “I left Mary before, Emma. I will not leave her again.”

“If you wed—”

“Mary cannot earn enough to survive on her own.”

Emma bit her lip. A habit of hers when she was thinking. “But Mr. Mayhew loves you. I know he wants to marry you.”

“You don't know that.”

“Perhaps he will
want
to take on the care of Mary and Sebastian. And once he comes—”

“
He is already here
.”

Emma gaped, silenced at last.

Mina bent over her sewing. “He is already in England. The letter we left for him poste restante, the letter with our direction, was claimed a week ago.”

“A week? That must be wrong. He would have come to see you.” Emma's stare grew heavy. “He
would
come to see you. Mina?”

Tears stung her eyes, so she kept her head down. “I don't know.”

Emma asked no more questions, and Mina was thankful. She had no answers to give. She was desperate to see Seth, to know that he was all right, to return his money. But nothing between them had changed. She had refused him in Bombay because she was afraid.

And in London, she was even more afraid.

* * *

The children didn't run here. Seth peered down an alley, shadowed even at ten in the morning. Two hollow-eyed waifs stared back at him.

This couldn't be right. He checked the direction again. The nearest building with a number was two doors down. This would be the building.

But this wasn't at all a home for Mina.

“Are you lost, handsome?” A woman's hand gripped his forearm, the clawlike fingers red and raw. “Lord, you're a strong 'un.”

The woman's hair was an unnatural black, and she smelled sickly sweet, like something verging on rot. But her eyes were the same silvery blue as the butterflies in Brazil. They must have been fine once.

He pasted on a smile. “I'm not lost, but I thank you.”

Her lips twisted with what might've been scorn. “Are you lonely, then?”

Christ, London might've been Bombay. Might be worse.

Quelling his revulsion, he patted her hand, before reaching into his pocket. He only had a few tuppence to spare. “Why don't you go on and have something to eat?” He pressed the coins into her hand.

Lifeless eyes watched him a moment longer before she shuffled off.

Christ, Minnie, don't be here…please.
He knocked on the flimsy door, the three soft raps a more ordered rhythm than his heart at the moment.

Mina and Emma must have been in London…six weeks? Seven? Their journey had been faster than his. Their passage on the new, fast HMS
Liverpool
had cost him dear, but he hadn't cared.

He'd taken a slower route, and on the overland portion, they'd lost a few days, as little Aimee needed a rest from the sea. Just as Georgie had predicted.

And in the end, he'd only been hurrying to discover all his hopes crushed—no,
crushed
wasn't accurate. Wilted. Withered. Rotted.

He wouldn't dwell on it now; he couldn't. There was only so much feeling a man could take at a time, and Mina was what mattered now.

He knocked again, instantly softening the force after the first rap. Too damn loud, though he'd not meant it to be. Mina would be startled enough by the sight of him. He'd lost half a stone on the voyage and Georgie had shorn his hair above his ears.

Was no one here? He pressed his ear to the door. Nothing. Faces peeked from windows and alleys. Would one of them know Mina?

Steps sounded from behind him and he turned.

“Mr. Mayhew?” Emma's eyes were huge with surprise, but her smile grew. Behind her, a woman with a young boy at her side.

And Mina.

It was Mina that burned away the gray walls and slick cobblestones and peering eyes. His Mina, looking like his angel, looking beautiful…and thin and tired.

“Hello, Minnie.”

She stared with surprise, crushing the package she held to her chest, and he couldn't get to her fast enough. That perfect blush rose on her cheeks and her eyes glowed, and a smile he'd not felt on his lips for months stretched across his face. “There's a sight a man could get used to.”

He wrapped his arms around her.

And he was home.

All the tension he'd carried for months melted from his body. The tension on that boat, and on the caravan across the desert from Suez, and sitting across the desk from his cultivators yesterday, hearing the bad news.

Damn, he might release the waterworks if he didn't brace himself. Her hair was soft under his nose, but he hugged lean muscle and bone. She'd lost weight, as he had. They'd both diminished being apart. “I wasn't expecting to find you here, pretty.”

She hugged him tight and whispered, “You're here. You're really here and you came.” She pushed him back to look at him. “Are you well?”

“I'm always well.” He cupped her face. “May not be soon if you don't stop crying.” God, he'd missed looking into those eyes. They warmed him like no fire could have. “I found them, Minnie. I found Georgie and Aimee alive.”

Her eyes widened and she covered her lips with a shaking hand.

“They're alive and here in London with me.”

“Alive,” she whispered, and he braced her against him before she dropped to the filthy street. “Thank God. Emma, Mary—Georgiana's alive.
And
the baby.”

Those tears weren't stopping at all, and he hugged her hard.

“How, Seth? I thought—”

“Me too, pretty.”

She smiled and squared her slim shoulders, wiping her cheeks dry and smoothing her blouse with trembling hands. His little officer again. “Come inside. You must tell us everything.”

The ladies bustled him indoors and his body tightened at the first sight of the room. Plank floors. A cold hearth. Chairs without cushions. There wasn't anything here of comfort. “Minnie, why—”

“Don't.” She wiped her eyes. “We're fine. We're just frugal. We're warm and we eat every day and Sebastian is well.”

She pulled him down to sit beside her on the sofa. Emma and the other woman with the child—
Mary?
—sat across from them on those naked, wood chairs. He nodded at them, but he had a hundred questions. “All right, then. Who's Sebastian?”

“This is my sister Mary and her son, Sebastian,” Mina said. “My nephew…he needed a great deal, actually. A place to live and medicine, and there were debts to pay.”

Mary sprang to her feet, with her boy in her arms, and bent to hug Seth, startling Sebastian into clutching his mother's neck. “Mr. Mayhew, thank you. I thank God for you every day. You don't know what you did. Your money kept my son alive. I owe you everything—” Her voice cracked. “
Everything
and I'll never be able to repay you or thank you.” She sobbed and buried her face into his shoulder.

“That's…” He patted Mary on the shoulder. The poor lady was quaking. “That's all right, Mary. I'm real glad of that. I'd do anything for Minnie's family. Sebastian looks like a fine boy.” From what he could see of him, with the lad crushed between him and his mum.