“Oh, do you know them, darling?” The endearment sounded odd to her ears, but it got his attention. “The gentleman was most helpful. I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t come along when he did. Charles, we must thank him.”
“I think referring to Sabran as a gentleman is perhaps too generous. However, you weren’t to know, my dear. We must leave, now.”
“But Charles, something dreadful has happened …”
He wouldn’t look at her, but kept his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance.
“Yes, I know … Cynthia told me …”
“Then you’ll understand how we are responsible …”
“Not responsible, surely … but I’ll arrange for one of my men to take the child to the nuns. We can’t adopt her ourselves. It would cause trouble amongst the servants. You’ve forgotten how strict the caste rules are here. Anyway, as soon as the real mother realises there’s no money to be had, she’ll turn up. I’ve seen this sort of thing before.”
He took her hand and held it firmly. There would be no more nonsense. Lady Palmer and Cynthia had made their way to the carriage, still surrounded by curious onlookers. They gave her furious impatient glares but, even so, Sara resisted, not being able to tear herself away from the child playing in the dust.
“Charles, we must do something …”
He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Lady Palmer would never allow her in the carriage. We must leave at once.”
“Pardonnez moi.”
Charles swung around to face Sabran, who stood before them with an air of barely controlled irritation. He’d been a witness to the scene between the couple and had been waiting for an opportunity to interrupt.
“Fitzroy.” He said the name as though it cost him a great deal.
Charles gave a curt nod in return. “I believe my wife has reason to be grateful to you. I want to reimburse you for your trouble.”
Sabran ignored the offer with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I do not want your money.”
Sabran stared curiously at Sara, then back to Charles. His face showed a faint glimmer of surprise, then a half smile of what she felt sure was derision, accompanied by an exaggerated, almost sarcastic bow, waving a hand before her like a courtier, and dazzling her eyes with a huge rough-cut yellow diamond set in heavy gold he wore on his wedding finger.
Usually she couldn’t bear jewellery on a man, thinking it effeminate and a sure sign of vanity, though on his hand the primitive cut of the stone seemed only to add to his air of mystery, as a sorcerer might use a wand to hypnotise his victims.
She’d caught his flicker of surprise, and even distaste also. She was shocked to see that the man didn’t admire her and might even dislike her.
“I’m here to tell you, madam, I will take the child! That is the end of the matter!” he announced.
Then, bowing again briefly in Sara’s direction, he snapped his fingers at his entourage. “Come!”
“Forgive me, monsieur, but I’m not so sure.”
At first there was a faint gleam of pure white teeth, a polite but failed attempt to cover a snarl, then, while his dark enigmatic eyes swept over her with now unconcealed dislike, he snapped his fingers and his entourage sprang to attention again.
Charles took her hand to lead her away.
“I think the matter is decided at last, my dear.”
“But the old man wanted me to take her!” She touched her heart with the tips of her fingers to emphasise the truth of her words. “I’m sure of it! And he died at peace because he believed, somehow, that I would take his granddaughter.”
There was an uncomfortable silence at her public display of passion, including Charles, who felt compelled to step in and restore order.
“My dear girl, you’re letting your imagination run away with you. Let Monsieur Sabran take her. At least, with him, she’ll be at her own level.”
Again, it took all of Sabran’s self-control to ignore Charles and speak to Sara with a calm voice. “The English have taken everything else from us. You must at least leave us our children.”
Sara stared. There was nothing more she could say, realising the truth of his words.
“But you must come to visit her often,” he said in a softer tone. “You will always be welcome.” His thickly accented voice poured over her like heavy silk. He glanced at Charles to see how he would take the invitation and was clearly pleased to see him bristle and clear his throat again.
“To make certain I’m not ill-treating her,” Sabran added, laughing softly.
“Now!” He slapped his hands together, and everyone jumped again.
“I must go, and so must you. That’s the end of the matter”.
While still dazed by his sudden display of charm, Sara watched as a waiting attendant picked up the child and held her dangling at arm’s length.
“Don’t be a fool! Give her to me!” Sabran almost snatched the child from the servant, gave Sara a final bow, then, with a dismissive look at Charles, marched away with the child, who was now crying loudly, tucked under his arm like a parcel, with his entourage hurrying along behind.
Sara had to hide her smile as she said goodbye in return. Then, as an afterthought, she called out, “Wait! What’s her name? Does anyone know anything about her? Anything at all?” She looked around at the remaining people, who stared back at her with vacant eyes.
Sabran stopped in his tracks; the baby had wet herself and left a damp patch on his clean linen. He turned and glared at Sara, his patience obviously reaching an end.
Charles hissed at her, “For goodness’ sake, my dear girl … How obstinate you’ve become. Lady Palmer is furious; please try to understand my position.”
“Just a minute, Charles, please … forgive me. It’s not a lost puppy we’re talking about, she’s a child!”
She held his gaze with her lovely eyes and, despite everything, he softened.
“You’re right, of course. She must have a name, Monsieur Sabran …”
“She must, I suppose.” He muttered a string of words in French, spoken too quickly to make out, though Sara was sure they were not flattering to her.
“What do you think of Prema?” He held his face in a tight grimace. “It was my grandmother’s name. Will that do?”
“Prema! It can’t be! It can’t be!” She swayed and for a moment she thought she might faint.
Sabran put out a hand to support her, but Charles moved quickly, at the same time giving a warning look. Sabran dropped his hand, though not without his mocking secret smile.
“The old man called out that name, just before he …” Her voice faltered, husky now with suppressed tears. “He did! It was Prema! I’m sure of it now! It must be a sign, it must be …”
“Prema … is that your name?” She bent down to gaze into the child’s eyes and the baby turned her head and gave a half smile as if to answer.
“It is!”
Sara stared at Sabran, her face shining, asking him to share in her astonishment and the absolute marvel of the thing. His eyes flashed with what she thought was a touch of alarm.
“So superstitious, madam, and you’ve only been on our shores an hour … but then, so much that happens in India is unexplained. I will ask my guru about it.”
His