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Miss Hoffman, sitting across from the girls and defiantly wearing her gardening ensemble, had not
said a word since their departure and Mrs. Tucker had brought along a great mass of knitting to
distract her during her journey, although how she could keep her stitches straight amid all this jostle,
Emma had no idea. Even Amy’s grandmother and Geraldine seemed uncharacteristically subdued.
Emma turned to look at the carriage behind her, which held a smattering of the men, but the squeaking
and rattling of the cart was so pronounced that it was impossible to overhear what, if anything, they
were saying.
“The great joke of it all is that I always claimed nothing which happened at the Byculla
Club could ever shock me,” Amy said with a breathless laugh. “But I was proven wrong, wasn’t I?”
“In a most spectacular fashion,” Emma said with a smile. “I think it is marvelously
sporting of you to come out today at all.”
“Oh, but if I had stayed in Bombay I was at greater risk of dying from boredom,” Amy
said. “Can you imagine the old ladies in a circle on Granny’s porch, all of them staring at me as if
they expected that I might somehow take flight at any moment, and sending the servants for cup after
cup of tea? I needed some diversion. Something other than the visits from Tom, that is.”
Visits? The plural form of the word was certainly informative. But before Emma could
answer, Amy leaned in again for another whispered confidence.
“What is truly shocking now is that our missionary friend has come in trousers.”
“Miss Hoffman has a penchant for men’s clothing,” Emma whispered back. “And for
providing her own manner of jolts to society.” It seemed rude to be gossiping about the woman right
in front of her face, but the jangle of the carts blanketed all other noise and besides, Miss Hoffman
appeared to be quite oblivious to anything happening around her. She was staring into the distance
with a pensive frown, as if she were trying to sort out a difficult mathematics problem in her head.
“But they are quite practical for our situation, are they not?”
“Without question, but they set her apart in a way that I suspect does not serve her larger
aims,” Amy answered. “The Raj does not like unconventional women. If we do anything other than
fawn over our men and breed their babies, they squawk as if we were letting down all of England.”
“I should think the Raj would welcome Miss Hoffman’s work at the school,” Emma said,
“no matter what the woman chooses to wear. She is, after all, helping to cover up any number of
sins.”
“You mean the erotic wall?”
“I mean the half-breed girls.”
“Ah yes, of course,” said Amy, craning her neck to consider the cart just ahead. “Some
of them seem nearly as English as we do.”
“I should have come to visit you.”
“You have been busy.”
“Not nearly so busy as Tom, and yet he has managed to make the trip…”
“Three times,” Amy said promptly. “You don’t mind, do you? Tell me the truth. ”
The truth? The truth is that I like this girl, Emma thought. She is direct and funny and
pretty and brave and perhaps that’s the worst of it, that I can perfectly understand why he would
want to drive out to see her. Why he would be willing to sit among that flock of nervous old ladies
just for the chance to hold her hand. Hold it in that way he has, which is somewhat like a doctor
and somewhat like a lover, that gesture he makes which simultaneously takes your pulse and
strokes your palm.
“I do not mind in the least,” Emma said.