An Exotic Heir, Page 6

  Exhaustion overtook young Harry immediately after eating. With a full belly after all of the excitement of the afternoon, Harry’s long-lashed eyes closed and his anxious face relaxed as he fell asleep.

  The following evening, Cassandra dressed with care for the Governor-General’s soiree. She wanted to look particularly fine in the hopes that she might have a word with the Governor-General about the treatment of people of mixed race.

  She had never been one to fight for the cause of another or get involved in politics, but she supposed that it was never too late to start. As in the case with little Harry, she suddenly found herself wanting to do more than she had ever considered before.

  Gita carefully wove small white flowers through Cassandra’s golden ringlets. As she watched in the mirror, she could not help but remember the beautiful fragrant white flowers Mr. Ritchie had wound around her hair the day before.

  These were not the same—in more ways than one.

  After Gita finished her hair, Cassandra took out her writing materials. She paused, considering the implications of what she was going to do, and then shoved aside all of her concerns and wrote a note to Mr. Ritchie requesting him to accompany her for a ride the following morning at seven.

  She’d learned that it was common practice to go riding early in the morning before the day became too hot. And, Cassandra thought, her mother wouldn’t be awake that early to object.

  If she truly wanted to do something to help Mr. Ritchie and others like him, then she figured the best person to go to for information would be Mr. Ritchie himself.

  She bit her lip as she turned to hand the note to the waiting servant Gita had called as soon as she’d seen Cassandra begin to write. To Cassandra’s surprise, it was little Harry who stood waiting.

  He had somehow managed to fashion for himself a smaller version of the household livery, complete with a white turban and a peacock feather gently waving atop his head.

  Trying hard to keep the smile from her lips, she handed the note to the very determined-looking boy. It seemed as if he was going to take his new duties quite seriously.

  “Please deliver this note to Mr. Ritchie, Harry. Make sure he gets it in his own hands.” Cassandra transferred the note from one hand to the other to show the boy what she meant, in case he did not fully understand her English.

  Harry repeated, “Paper Mr. Ritchie, I give.”

  Cassandra smiled, thrilled that he had understood her. “Yes, you give him the note.”

  Harry salaamed, backed away then turned and ran off. It was only after he left that Cassandra realized that neither she nor Harry knew where Mr. Ritchie lived.

  Chapter Five

  Was it a palace or a house? Cassandra couldn’t decide. The Governor-General’s house in Calcutta was a classic Georgian edifice, although its opulence reminded Cassandra of a palace. Whichever it was, Cassandra decided she wouldn’t like to live there. It seemed so lonely in the large park, only recently planted with young trees, although the flower gardens were pretty.

  As her mother had predicted, the soiree was indeed attended by all of the most fashionable people in Calcutta. The open rooms were so over-crowded, they reminded Cassandra of the few London parties she had attended.

  Within moments of walking through the door, Major Vernon was by her side. Cassandra didn’t miss the significant look from her mother, nor did she want to stir up Lady Renwick’s ire again, so she smiled politely and allowed the major to lead her on to the dance floor where a country dance was forming.

  “How have you been keeping?” Major Vernon asked as they began to move through the steps of the dance.

  “Very well, thank you.”

  “You’ve been enjoying your stay so far?” he asked as they moved together again.

  “Yes.” Cassandra was already tired of his placid attempts at conversation. She should probably try make a stab at conversing with him, but she just couldn’t drum up the enthusiasm to do so. She knew she shouldn’t say anything about her walk with Mr. Ritchie the day before. Major Vernon would probably be horrified to hear that she had spoken with, let alone saved a child from the street. No, there was really nothing to say to the man.

  She suffered through the dance in silence, a smile lightly fixed to her lips.

  As it ended, Major Vernon escorted Cassandra back to her mother, who was sitting on a small sofa conversing with Lord and Lady Minto. After she was reintroduced to their hosts, Lord Minto was kind enough to relinquish his seat to her.

  Cassandra’s mother and Lady Minto seemed to be thoroughly enjoying a conversation about the lack of good household help in India, and the ever-ambitious Major Vernon took the opportunity to speak to Lord Minto.

  Cassandra half-listened to the two conversations around her while surreptitiously scanning the assemblage for a dark head which had been figuring in her thoughts with disturbing frequency. Although she’d understood from her mother that Mr. Ritchie would not be invited to the Governor-General’s residence, she realized sadly that his absence still caused her more than a twinge of disappointment.

  Her attention was caught, however, by the slightly raised voice of Major Vernon as he argued with Lord Minto.

  “Well, frankly, my lord, no! I disagree with your proposal. We should not encourage more natives to be educated. It is unnecessary, and, quite frankly, I do not believe they are capable of it.”

  Cassandra could not help but laugh aloud at the absurdity of his statement. She interrupted the men. “Do you mean, my lord, that the Indians are not allowed to be educated?”

  Lord Minto turned to her, with an amused and curious expression on his face. “It is not that they are not allowed, Miss Renwick, it is just that we do not have the facilities to educate them in the best of the English tradition. The wealthiest, of course, are well educated—there is the one Indian school. But I am proposing to allow more Indian boys into Hindu College, where the English boys now attend classes.”

  “But that would be wonderful, sir. Are you proposing this for all Indians, or only the ones of mixed blood?”

  “Oh, no, Miss Renwick, for all natives. Many, if not all of the Eurasians, are already educated with our boys.”

  Major Vernon smiled indulgently at Cassandra. “My dear Miss Renwick, I am so sorry! This must be terribly boring for you. You surely cannot be interested in such dull stuff as the education of the natives.”

  “Oh, but I am, Major Vernon. It is quite interesting to me. Here I am in India, and I know almost nothing about the country, or its people. Is it not absurd?” She smiled at him, inviting him to share in her amusement.

  Major Vernon clearly found nothing amusing, and his face took on a serious mien. “No, I would not say it is absurd. You are a good English girl and really should not concern yourself with such things.”

  “Why ever not?” asked Cassandra, beginning to get irritated with Major Vernon’s condescending attitude.

  Lord Minto laughed. “I believe, Miss Renwick, that Major Vernon feels that good English girls should only concern themselves with pretty dresses and finding a proper husband.”

  “Yes, that is it, exactly,” agreed Major Vernon, oblivious to Cassandra’s growing anger.

  “Do you not believe that I should take an interest in the world around me? Or do you think that I am too foolish, as you clearly believe the Indians to be?” Cassandra was very close to losing her temper. She had an extreme dislike of being spoken down to.

  Lady Renwick, although deep in conversation with Lady Minto, had heard Cassandra’s angry tone of voice, and quickly jumped in before Cassandra completely disgraced herself.

  “Cassandra, my dear, I do believe that you should leave the more serious discussions to the men. Gentlemen, you will, of course, excuse my daughter. She has recently come from school and is not quite used to interacting in a social setting.”

  Lady Renwick managed to smile charmingly at the two gentlemen while making it clear to Cassandra that she was out of line.

  Aft
er her mother’s quelling look, Cassandra realized that she would do better to stay quiet for some time. She hated to do it, but she sat with her mouth clamped shut, trying to calm her quickly beating heart. After all, the Governor-General did seem to be an eminently sensible man. She decided to put her faith in him–at least so far as educating Indians was concerned.

  Julian stepped out of the door of his home and was immediately brought up short by a young boy in familiar livery. For a moment he did not recognize the street urchin Miss Renwick had saved the previous day—this boy walked proudly and spoke with assurance.

  “Mr. Ritchie?” the boy asked in a strong Bengali accent.

  “Yes?” Julian replied, managing to keep a serious expression on his face.

  The boy handed him a folded piece of paper, salaamed and then turned and walked off officiously.

  Julian had to keep himself from laughing out loud at the child’s self-importance. But turned his attention to the note in his hand.

  As he quickly scanned the lines, a low whistle escaped his lips. He tucked the paper into his coat’s tail pocket and continued on his way to his dinner engagement with Reggie.

  His good friend shared an Indian cook, originally from the nearby French colony of Chandernagore, with the man who lived in the flat below his. This excellent chef was one reason why Julian frequently invited himself to partake of his friend’s hospitality.

  After a superb French meal, the two men retired to Reggie’s drawing room. There, they sat in contented, companionable silence, nursing their brandies, each deep in his own thoughts.

  After a while, Julian looked over at his friend, who seemed to be analyzing the amber liquid in his glass. Making a decision, he pulled out the note from his pocket.

  After perusing it once more, he said, “Reggie, you are a very good friend.”

  “Well,” Reggie blurted at this bald statement, “I should hope so!”

  “Yes. Well, you remember the plan I told you I was working on the other night?”

  Reggie immediately sat up, his body tense and ready. “I remember it only too well.”

  “Tonight I received this.” He held up the note young Harry had handed him. “It is the sign I was waiting for.”

  “What do you mean, the sign? What is it?”

  “I am going to share this with you, Reggie, because you are such a good friend and I know that it will go no further than these walls.” Julian hesitated, and then handed him the note.

  Reggie scanned the note with curiosity. “By Jove!” he exclaimed, clucking disapprovingly with his tongue.

  Julian leaned back in his chair. “Well? What do you think?”

  Reggie’s eyes grew large. “But is it not obvious, my boy? You must send her a note back explaining that it is impossible to meet her in such a way.”

  “Must I?” Julian said, quirking one eyebrow at his friend.

  “But, of course!” Reggie got up and paced about the room, clearly agitated by his friend’s cool acceptance of this scandalous assignation.

  Julian nodded his head and pursed his lips together in thought. “Perhaps I should. But you know that I will not. Not after all that I have been through at the hands of Lady Renwick. I could not possibly pass up an opportunity like this.”

  As Julian emptied his glass and moved to refill it, while Reggie continued his agitated entreaties. “Julian, really, this girl does not know what she is doing. She cannot know the significance of asking you to go riding without her mother’s approval.”

  “Perhaps she does not,” Julian said, “but I do.”

  Reggie stopped his pacing directly in front of Julian. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he was finally able to express himself. “Julian, this chit is a complete innocent. You cannot simply meet her like this!”

  Julian looked up at his friend, but said nothing, so Reggie went on, “Not only that, she’s the daughter of our employer. Have you given any thought to that?”

  Reggie resumed his pacing. “Have you really mulled over the implications? What do you think Sir Lionel would do if he found out that his daughter had even sent you such a note? By God, you would be cast out without a reference, without ... without ...” Reggie sputtered, horrified at the thought.

  “Without a penny,” Julian finished for him. “I don’t believe he would, by the way. I don’t believe he has the backbone to do that. But Reggie, he is not going to find out, is he?” Julian leaned forward meaningfully.

  “He had better well not, I should say.”

  “And so should I.” Julian looked closely at his friend, who had stopped his frenetic pacing.

  Reggie caught Julian’s eye. “Do you think that I would tell him? Devil a bit, what kind of friend do you think I am, Julian?”

  “A very good one, as I have already said. Otherwise, I would never have shown the note to you.” Julian sat back, once again at ease.

  Reggie relaxed a bit as well and sat down again on the settee across from Julian. “Honestly, Julian, you aren’t actually going to meet her?”

  Julian sighed. “Yes, Reggie, I am. I am going to meet her tomorrow, and possibly the next day, and the next. I am going to meet her as often as I can.”

  Then, with a rueful smile playing on his face, he continued, “And I tell you now, Reggie, that sweet, innocent, beautiful girl is going to fall head over heels in love with me. And her mother is going to pay for all of the years of torment she has made me suffer. Oh yes, she is going to pay!”

  Chapter Six

  Good morning, Mr. Ritchie. I hope you are well today?” Cassandra said, trying to sound as if meeting a gentleman for an early morning ride was an ordinary occurrence.

  “Very well, Miss Renwick, thank you,” Mr. Ritchie said, playing along.

  Cassandra released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  This was going to all right. He was going to be a gentleman and not mention how inappropriate it was for her to suggest that they meet like this.

  She hadn’t been sure how he would react to her invitation, but his easy manner, as if this were a normal occurrence, dispelled some of her tension.

  She still wasn’t entirely sure that she would have the courage to do what she had planned.

  Mr. Ritchie turned his horse, leading her away from Chowringhee Road, where other riders were out taking their exercise.

  Mr. Ritchie was an excellent horseman, Cassandra noticed. The strong, yet easy gait of his horse showed his muscular thighs and powerful hands to advantage. Not that she was interested in such things–but, simply from an aesthetic point of view, it was a pleasing sight.

  Cassandra swallowed hard and tried to remember all the things she had planned to ask him. However, somehow, now that she was with him, she couldn’t think of one thing other than his very male presence.

  She looked away and tried again to focus her mind. Last evening, while lying in bed, she’d decided that she would question Mr. Ritchie while they were riding. She wanted to learn more about his life here in Calcutta, and how he dealt with the treatment he received from the English here with such equanimity.

  But now that she was with him, the thought of asking such questions turned Cassandra’s bones to jelly. She hated to admit this to herself, but she was a coward. She just could not ask this man such personal questions.

  “I thought I might show you some of Calcutta, if you’re interested,” Mr. Ritchie said, pulling her from her thoughts.

  Cassandra started, she hadn’t even been paying attention to where they were going. Now, however, she looked around her.

  They were riding across a large expanse of grass where herds of goats and cows grazed. The scene rather reminded Cassandra of Hyde Park, but with fewer trees and many more animals.

  Keeping the animals together were boys wielding long sticks. Their skins were dark brown from days spent out in the sun, but their eyes were bright and alert for anything unusual–like a white woman out riding with a brown skinned man. Cassandra ignored their stares
.

  It was going to be a bright, beautiful day. The sun, just newly risen, had not yet dispelled the cool of the night so the temperature was still very comfortable.

  She looked over at Mr. Ritchie who gave her a sweet smile, his white teeth standing out from his bronze face. Just seeing him smile at her made Cassandra lose more of her tension.

  It was rather a shame that she was not interested in men, for if she was, Mr. Ritchie would certainly be someone who she could find very attractive. She nearly shook her head at her silliness. She was not interested in men.

  As the park ended, they entered the streets of the city itself. Mr. Ritchie pointed out buildings of interest to Cassandra as they rode along—the Writers’ Building, where her father’s office was; St. John’s Cathedral; the Supreme Court; and the homes of many influential people.

  The scene around looked like it could have been anywhere in the central part of London. Only the coolies with their baskets on their heads, and the Indian women in their brilliantly colored saris, reminded Cassandra that she was indeed in India. She was fascinated by everything she saw.

  “I now understand why Calcutta is called the City of Palaces. These magnificent buildings and wide boulevards are quite awe-inspiring,” she commented.

  “I am quite proud of my city, and I am honored to have been given this opportunity to show it off to you.”

  Cassandra felt her cheeks warm as she blushed. “I...I thank you, sir.” She gave herself a mental shake and reminded herself once more why she had asked for this ride.

  “You certainly know Calcutta very well,” she said, trying to guide their conversation to a place where she could ask him some of her questions.

  “Well, yes, of course. I’ve lived here all my life.” Mr. Ritchie said, smiling warmly at her.

  Cassandra swallowed. “I was speaking with the Governor-General last night at the soiree I attended. He mentioned that he wanted to enlarge Hindu College so that more natives could attend.”