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“She did not.” He shrugged. “And she called it ‘home,’ strange to report. I remember
her most specifically saying ‘I will never go home.’ Of course all British citizens call England
‘home,’ even those who have lived the entirety of their lives in India.”
“With me gone, she knew she could reclaim you,” Geraldine said, her voice having
dropped almost to a whisper.
Weaver nodded. “I can’t think why. She never loved me. I was a dalliance, but you
know how it is with a child and a toy. She might put it down in boredom but the minute another child
shows interest… she was jealous of you.“
“Bosh. Rose Everlee would never have been jealous of the likes of Geraldine
Bainbridge,” Gerry said, leaning back against the soft settee and closing her eyes as a memory drifted
by. The image of Rose’s hands on the rails of the Weeping Susan as the ship made its long-delayed
entrance into Bombay harbor. The two women had stood side by side, and Geraldine had happened
to notice their four hands, lined up and gripping the railing. Rose’s were small, white, dainty, and
bejeweled. Her own had been large, blunt, and unadorned. “I have come prepared to listen to
anything you want to tell me, Anthony, and to accept it as the truth. But the one thing I know deep in
my soul is that Rose would have never feared me.”
“Perhaps she didn’t at first,” Weaver said, pouring more tea. “In fact, I shall confess we
laughed about it, that night after you and I became so awkwardly engaged. She said you would be the
perfect cover for our affair and I shall further risk your rage by reporting that she described you as
vague. ‘Vague,’ she said, ‘in the way bookish women so often are.’ But in time, as you and I became
closer, as I unwisely confessed that my affection for you was growing…”
He stopped. A silence fell over the room.
“You know, once….” Weaver finally said, after sipping his tea, “I was walking through
the compound and found one of the soldiers kissing his sweetheart. An English girl, and heaven
knows how he had managed to smuggle her through the gates. I reprimanded him, of course. Had the
girl delivered back to her parents in disgrace. He was furious at being caught and, just as the girl was
packed into her carriage, he said to me ‘You are too old to remember how it feels.’ But he was
wrong, for no matter how old I become I shall never forget that night on the Weeping Susan. The
first. That endless night without sleep. You know the one.”
“I know the one,” said Geraldine.
Tom stopped mid-scribble. Someone had to be there to take notes…and to ensure this
meeting did not become too much for either Weaver or Geraldine. But it was damn awkward being
forced to overhear their story in such detail, to stay alert without drawing any attention to himself,
especially considering he’d had no more than an hour of sleep himself the night before.
“So our separation was all of Rose’s devising,” Geraldine was saying, glancing at Tom
as she gamely tried to get the discussion back on track. She was taking Trevor’s orders to get the full
story seriously, no matter how much some of Weaver’s comments must have stung her, and Tom
admired her all the more for it. God knows, his own mind was darting all over the place.
Weaver chuckled at the jealousy in Geraldine’s voice, a little pleased to think he could
stir that much emotion in a woman, even now. “Well, Rose could hardly devise the Mutiny, could
she? That was real, and so was the danger, as I imagine history has shown us clearly enough. So you
were not merely sent to England to free up space in my bed, but also for your own protection.”
“And this is the point in your story where I suppose I am to thank you?”
He raised an elegantly thin white eyebrow. “You might. Considering what happened
later.”