The Linnet Bird: A Novel (37 page)

“I suppose they live up in Mount Pleasant.”

“Actually north of the city, in Everton. I thought you said you hadn’t been to Liverpool, Mr. Ingram.”

His expression didn’t change, but he blinked, and then raised one knuckle and touched his mustache, just under his nose, and in that split second before he responded, I knew he was lying. A good liar usually recognizes another. “Well, one does hear of places, even if one hasn’t actually been there.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” I said.

He cleared his throat, and raised his chin over my shoulder, and in the next moment an elderly gentleman appeared at my side. Mr. Ingram introduced us, then politely took his leave.

Later that evening, as I was preparing to depart with my party, I saw Mr. Ingram in conversation with another young man, glass in his hand, listening intently. As I watched him, he glanced up, and our eyes met. We held each other’s gaze for just a second too long before looking away. Neither of us smiled.

I found the handsome Mr. Ingram somehow intriguing. And yet the intrigue was a strange hold, an uncomfortableness that made my heart beat faster, as if I should be ready to flee. At the time there was no way I could understand this combination of attraction and repulsion. It would come back to haunt me in a double circle.

But now I am getting ahead of myself.

Chapter Nineteen

T
HE MORNING AFTER
I
HAD MET
S
OMERS
I
NGRAM
I
ASKED
F
AITH
if she knew of him; she admitted she had met him and found him to be utterly charming. “And he has a most officious position in the Company, I’ve heard,” she said. “He’s quite the talk, to have risen so far for one so young. And apparently there’s quite a bit of family wealth. Some have rudely commented that it was his family’s influence that allowed him such an expeditious move forward in his career. But one can’t believe all one hears.”

I nodded.

“Why do you ask, Linny?”

“I had the opportunity to meet him last night,” I told her. “He appeared slightly arrogant, I thought.”

“Arrogant? He’s nothing of the sort, Linny. Now, if we speak of arrogance, it must be in reference to Mr. Whittington. Have you been forced to spend any time with him?” she asked, and then chattered on about other bachelors. I stopped listening, wondering what it was that Mr. Ingram had to hide, and when our paths would next meet.

T
HE OPPORTUNITY AROSE
at an elaborate ball put on at the Calcutta Club to celebrate the ringing in of 1831. Much of Calcutta’s elite was in attendance; it appeared to me that the number was over three hundred. My dance card had been filled for two weeks. I wore the ball gown I had had made—at Faith’s insistence—before we left Liverpool; it was golden brocade and parchment silk, with a lacy fichu to cover the low neckline. I must admit, as I turned to view myself in the full-length pier glass, candlight shimmering on the skirts of the dress, that I felt it lent me a look that I dared to call splendor.

I saw how I had changed since I had stared, aghast, into the mirror in Shaker’s home after the terrible night he’d rescued me. The constrast was striking; my hair was now thick and lustrous, my eyes bright, and my cheeks a becoming shade.

As the ayah fussed with the last few curls of my hair, I knew Somers Ingram would be there. I found myself watching for him as soon as we arrived. Although I didn’t see him at the reception, or as we were seated for dinner, as soon as the dancing began he appeared, bowing before me. “Miss Smallpiece,” he said, and again I was struck by his posture, the smoothness of his skin, his full lips. “May I have the pleasure of escorting Miss Smallpiece around the floor, Mrs. Waterton?” He held out his gloved hand to me.

Mrs. Waterton trilled giddily, holding my dance card at a distance as she peered at it. “Why, Mr. Ingram, I don’t see your name on Miss Smallpiece’s card.”

“Come now, Mrs. Waterton,” he cajoled. “Depending, of course, on whether Miss Smallpiece will grant me the pleasure.” He held out his arm to me.

“Mrs. Waterton?” I asked, looking at her. I realized how badly I did want to dance with him.

“But of course, my dear. I will extend apologies to your disappointed partner when he arrives.”

We moved smoothly around the dance floor in a waltz. Initially, Mr. Ingram’s patter required little of me. He spoke of the fine organization of the ball, of a problem with his
khansana,
of a sporting event he had recently attended.

“You are an excellent dancer, sir,” I told him when the moment was right, my gloved hand on his shoulder, the other held firmly within his own gloved hand.

“Thank you, Miss Smallpiece,” he said, smiling down at me, and drew me just the slightest bit closer. I was aware of the feeling of his thigh against mine as we turned. No other bachelor had been this bold with me; when I thought about it, most held me at more than a respectable distance. “But I’m aware of a certain hesitancy in your step. Does dancing bore you, or are you just not terribly accomplished at it?”

I was shocked at his less than complimentary statement, that he might actually speak of my dancing ability—or lack of it, according to him. I stopped in the middle of a turn.

“I find you quite thoughtless, sir,” I said, putting as much indignation into my voice as I could. Other couples floated around us. I didn’t care what he thought of my dancing, but didn’t like the implication that I may not have had many years of dancing in fine salons and ballrooms. I thought of Meg Liston, and her admittance of her lack of interest in dancing. “Not all of us are as talented as you, Mr. Ingram,” I said now, and my voice held a saucy note. “There are those of us who may have spent time pursuing more intellectual and cultural interests than the movement of feet against the floor.” I watched his eyes widen slightly. “In fact, by your expertise on the dance floor, I’m certain your talents run to the more mechanical, and that you have little interest in things intellectual whatsoever.”

He laughed, an open, delighted laugh. “Well spoken, Miss Smallpiece, and I am humbly chastised. And rightfully so. Of course, you dance lightly and well. I only spoke so boldly because I did sense you were bored by all of this, and wondered how you would react to a statement that was not as safe as the usual niceties we are all forced to utter, dance after dance.”

I was charged with a bolt of surprise that he was seeing in me precisely what I’d felt. And that he had the affrontery—no, I decided, the courage—to speak of it to me. It meant he actually had picked up on what I thought I carefully concealed in my words and tone.

As one, we moved into the dance again. “You were testing me, then. Is that it? To see if I would rise to the challenge of your poor manners?”

He smiled. “You might put it that way. And, Miss Smallpiece, I’m delighted to report that you have passed my test. You obviously have nerve, something badly lacking in many young women I meet here. Nerve and spirit, judging by the way your eyes are flashing so indignantly right now. I must compliment you on those golden arrows you send my way.”

Now he was flirting openly. He had gone from insult to compliment in seconds. I didn’t know how to deal with a man like Somers Ingram.

“What is it you do for the Company, Mr. Ingram?” I asked, breathing deeply, unable to come up with anything else at that moment. I didn’t have to think about my body. He truly was a marvelous dancer and led me expertly.

“I am the chief auditor,” he said.

I had no idea what that was. “How marvelous.”

“Do you think so? Why? I’m interested to know what you would find marvelous about my post.”

Was he again reading my mind? How dare he put me in this uncomfortable position? Most other men would accept the compliment with a proud acknowledgment and talk about the position, so I would know what it was. They wouldn’t question me on my reaction. As I tried to think of something logical to say, he laughed again.

“You really don’t know what a chief auditor does, do you?”

I clicked my tongue and smiled naughtily. I realized I could be as capable of flirting as he. “Really, Mr. Ingram, you are impossible.”

“Oh, come now, Miss Smallpiece. It doesn’t suit you.”

“What doesn’t?”

“This false air of injury. Why would you say my position is marvelous when you don’t know what it is, and, furthermore, don’t really care?”

Before I was forced to answer, the dance ended, and he led me back to Mrs. Waterton.

“Would you be so kind as to consent to allowing Miss Smallpiece a future dance this evening?” he asked her.

“Miss Smallpiece has many young men requesting her company,” Mrs. Waterton said, fanning the air with my dance card. “She must not appear rude.”

“Of course,” Mr. Ingram said, and bowed again. Strangely, I felt a surge of disappointment at not having the opportunity to talk with him again, and at the same time relief that he wouldn’t confuse me with his unpredictable and unsettling behavior.

“Although,” Mrs. Waterton added, “she may have an opening toward the end of the evening.”

Now Mr. Ingram bent over my hand, which he still held, pressing his lips against my glove. “I shall look forward to it,” he said, and then left.

But he didn’t come back again, and I didn’t see him in the crowds. And at that I felt something that was almost akin to loss. No. Not loss. That would make it appear that I missed something. Perhaps the feeling I experienced when Mr. Ingram did not return for a final dance was more of the same frustration that I felt, imprisoned with Faith and the Watertons on Garden Reach, with India just at my fingertips.

I couldn’t quite put a name to it.

I found myself wondering when I would see Somers Ingram next—and again, it wasn’t longing to be close to this man. It was more something that bothered me about him.

W
E MET NEXT
at a soirée at the Calcutta Club later in January. His skin was even more darkened, as if he had spent recent time outdoors. While surrounded by others we exchanged opinions on expected subjects: the weather (cool and pleasant), architecture (the renovation of some of the rooms at the Writers Building), Indian politics (the rumors of difficulties with the administration of the rajah of Mysore), and news from home (the exciting prospect of steam navigation).