Page 116 of A Modest Independence

“When I was a girl in Chipping St. Mary,” she explained, “market day was one of the best days for gossip. The villagers looked forward to it all week.”

He frowned. “Did they?”

“Always. It’s human nature. And it must be the same here, surely?” She turned to Ahmad. “You must go, of course. Even if the villagers won’t talk, the peddlers might. Especially if you make a purchase or two.”

Ahmad nodded. “I’ll wear something less conspicuous.”

“Shall I go too, madam?” Mira asked.

Jenny looked at her maid. The dak journey had plainly exhausted her. It was evident in the slump of her shoulders and the faint circles around her eyes. “Absolutely not. You must rest and stay out of the heat.”

“We must all rest.” Tom pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “We’ll want to make an early start in the morning.”

“An excellent idea.” Jenny stood.

Tom accompanied her to her room. He stopped at the threshold, his hand holding hers a fraction longer than propriety allowed. “Is there anything you need?” he asked quietly. “Anything I can do to make things easier?”

“You’ve already made things easier. I don’t know how I could have handled all of this without you.”

A wry smile briefly lit his eyes. “You’d have managed.”

An answering smile touched her lips. Tom knew she was a managing female. That he didn’t seem to mind it was rather miraculous. She pressed his hand. “Goodnight, Tom.”

“Goodnight, Jenny.”

She was still smiling when she closed the door.

The next morning, at eight o’clock precisely, she and Tom set out for the hospital in a gharry.

It was a smallish building, housing no more than fifty beds—less than half of which were presently occupied. The entire enterprise was run by a frazzled surgeon-major by the name of Bartlett. He wasn’t particularly keen on having his morning routine disrupted.

“Come, come,” he said, ushering them into his small office. “I haven’t much time to spare.” And then—five minutes later: “There’s nothing I can do to help you, Miss Holloway. Had Captain Lord Castleton been injured at the siege rather than killed outright, he’d have been treated in the field. At the depot hospital, not here.”

“I’m aware,” Jenny replied. “We spoke with one of the field surgeons who served at the depot hospital yesterday. He has no record of having treated Lord Castleton.”

“Nor do I, ma’am.”

“Yes, but…is there no one working here who might have helped care for the wounded after the siege? A nurse, perhaps. Or a native servant.”

The surgeon-major massaged his temples. “You’d be well advised to speak with Lieutenant-Colonel Tremaine at the fort.”

“We have done. And he—”

“Well, there you have it. If Tremaine can’t help you, I don’t see how I can do so.”

“You can permit us to speak to the hospital staff,” Tom said. “The Earl of Castleton was a gentleman of great importance. His sister, Lady Helena, expects us to pursue every available avenue.”

“As that may be, sir, I won’t have you making nuisances of yourself in my hospital. And I won’t permit any aggravation to my patients. However…seeing as how this is a matter concerning the peerage, you may as well speak with the matron. She can direct you to the appropriate medical staff.”

Jenny and Tom spent the next four hours questioning the hospital matron and every other person they could find at the hospital who was remotely connected to the siege. No one remembered Giles. Not the nurses or the man in the dispensary. Not even the few natives who were willing to speak with them.

What they did remember was the siege. Each of those willing to talk to them had some version of the same tale to tell about the diabolical brilliance of the rani, the storming of the fort, and the destruction of the city.

Jenny felt she was beginning to know the story by heart. It had only been two years ago, after all, in this very same month. In the bright light of day, amongst so many polite and industrious people scurrying about at their work or pausing to sip from their cups of tea, it was difficult to imagine the blaze of cannon fire and smoke and the screams of the dying and wounded.

It felt as if the full furies of hell had been unleashed, Colonel Anstruther had said.

A nightmarish thought.