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“That is a pity,” Miss Hoffman said, with no apparent rancor. “For we very much need
young strong women like yourself throughout the district to do the female share of the work. The men
handle the important things, and the female missionaries look after the native women, their babies,
deal with issues of health and food supplies, that sort of thing.”
“Hmmm,” said Emma. If issues of health and food were deemed trivial, she wondered
what the important work of the men might be.
“Do you believe yourself to be typical of the women who come to India as
missionaries?” asked Trevor. He knew what Miss Hoffman’s answer would likely be, but they had to
start the interview somewhere.
“We seem to all of his have been drawn here for different reasons,” the woman
answered. “Or if one was born into the Raj, as I was, we all have different reasons for staying.
Some come to fight what they perceive as moral wickedness ,while others are here to instigate
reforms which they hope will improve the plight of the local people. And thus the most conservative
and most liberal souls of Britain work side by side in this hopeless endeavor. We are a strange
crew.”
“Hopeless?” Emma inquired.
“No one likes us,” Miss Hoffman said, with a sudden wide grin. It gave the impression
that she enjoyed being disliked, or at least that she wore her expulsion from the Raj as a private band
of honor. “The English look down on our work, the Indians resent it. Our little Bible services and
prayer groups are totally ineffectual in a land with so many religions, so many gods. You can’t even
begin to know who you’re working against. There are the Hindus and Muslims, of course, but also
the Parses, Sikhs, and Jains. Our percentage of conversions is abysmally low. In fact, I would say
any missionary in India who tried to measure his success on a numerical basis would promptly go
mad.”
“The same thing might be said of policemen in London,” Trevor said drily, earning him
another grin from the woman, whom he was beginning to like more with each passing minute.
“If the work is pointless, why do you stay?” Emma asked.
“The mission life is all I know,” Miss Hoffman answered. “And I like to imagine I am
helping, at least a little. These girls before us, of course… I raise them up and find them jobs or
husbands as best I can. And these wonders around me…the art in the temple… Ancient and
irreplaceable. As long as the school functions here, they can scarcely knock it all down around our
ears and so I console myself that, at least for now, I am protecting these marvels from the Raj.”
“You mean the wall,” Trevor said.
“Among other things. The mosaics are certainly the most famous of our treasures.”
"I’m surprised you admire them.”
For the first time, he saw a flash of indignation. “And why would you say that? Because
a missionary must automatically recoil at the sight of the human form? I assure, you, Detective, that
in the course of my work here I have seen many sights which would make you average church lady
back in London blush to her roots.”
“I am sure you have,” Trevor said. “And yet I noticed as we entered that the wall in
question has been draped entirely in muslin.”
Miss Hoffman laughed. “Oh that. Just a little ruse, Detective. A few days ago a local
women’s garden club came to me demanding the leveling of the wall and I suggested that it would be
faster and less expensive to merely cover it. Shield passersby from the vulgarity. Only I lacked the
funds, you see. And these fine ladies promised the money on the spot. They asked how much I would