Dark Road to Darjeeling Read Free Page B

the sound of it. Already I was being lured by the exoticism of the place, and I suspected my husband was already halfway to India in his imagination.
    “The Peacocks is the name of the estate, a tea garden on the border of Sikkim, outside of Darjeeling, right up in the foothills of the Himalayas.”
    “The rooftop of the world,” I said quietly. Brisbane flicked his fathomless black gaze to me and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. “Of course we will go, Portia,” I assured her.
    Her shoulders sagged a little in relief, and I noticed the lines of care and age beginning to etch themselves upon her face. “We will make arrangements to leave as soon as possible,” I said briskly. “We will go to India and settle the question of the estate, and we will bring Jane home where she belongs.”
    But of course, nothing that touches my family is ever so simple.

The Second Chapter
    On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
    —On the Seashore
Rabindranath Tagore
    It was not until we were almost halfway to India that I manoeuvred enough time alone with Portia to pry the truth from her. Plum was busily occupied sketching a pretty and penniless young miss bound for India to marry an officer, and Brisbane was closeted with the ship’s captain, both of them behaving mysteriously and pretending not to. Portia had evaded me neatly during our preparations for leaving Egypt, but I knew her well enough to know she had not made a clean breast of matters at the dinner table at Shepheard’s, and I meant to winkle the truth from her once and for all.
    She settled herself upon the small private deck attached to my cabin where I had lured her with the promise of a luscious tea en famille . She glanced about. “Where are the menfolk?” she asked, her voice touched by the merest shade of anxiety.
    “Plum is flattering an affianced bride and Brisbane is very likely doing something which will result in our quarrelling later.”
    “I thought we were taking tea together,” she commented, watching me closely.
    I narrowed my eyes. “No, we are quite alone.”
    She made to rise.
    “Sit down, Portia. And tell me everything.”
    Portia subsided into the chair and gave a sigh. “I ought to have known you would find me out.”
    “I have every right to be furious with you. I know you have intrigued to get us to India under false pretenses, but you might at least have told me why. I presume it does have to do with Jane?”
    She nodded. “That much is true, I promise you. And I am worried about the estate. Nothing I told you in Egypt was a lie,” she said, lifting her chin.
    “Yes, but I suspect you left out the most important bits,” I protested.
    She clamped her lips together, then burst out, “I think Freddie Cavendish was murdered.” She buried her face in her hands and did not look at me.
    I swallowed hard against my rising temper and strove to speak gently. “What makes you believe Freddie was murdered?”
    She lifted her head, spreading her hands. “I do not know. It is a feeling, nothing more. But Jane’s letters have been so miserable. She felt so wretched after Freddie died, so low that she felt compelled to write to me even though she feared I would not reply.” Her expression softened. “As if I could refuse her anything. After the first few months, she began to feel a little better, but there was always a sadness to her letters, a sort of melancholia I had never seen in her before.”
    “Of course she is melancholy,” I burst out in exasperation. “Her husband is dead! She is all alone in a strange land with people whom I suspect would just as soon not see her safely delivered of her child.”
    Portia shook her head slowly. “I could not pry too deeply. I did not want to raise fears in her that she might not have, but the more I read, the more troubled I became. She does not feelsafe there, nor happy. And if there is a chance that Freddie was murdered, it is most likely he was killed for the