Chapter Text
A suffocating expanse of grey approaches.
Grey seas, grey sky, a grey horizon now broken with the ragged outline of stoney buildings, peppered along an ashen shoreline.
What promises this city has made her. What hopes she had for it. And yet now, as she looks across the monotonous, uninspiring skyline of London, she fears perhaps it was all a lie. How could any hope spring from this drudgery?
In contrast to the stagnant stillness beyond, the ship is alive with anticipation. After six long months of nothing but open ocean and endless skies, the promise of dry land, of families reunited, of new beginnings, creates a euphoric impatience amongst the figures hunkered over the traffrails.
Though not everyone views the encroaching horizon with joy. For Kate it is as if she approaches the gallows. Before her is only an end. Nothing but the shadowy edge of a story near its close.
England does not promise a new beginning for her. It will not be a new home, there is no home for her now. This is just another transient stop on the meandering path of her life. Temporary. For Kate, everything was temporary. Mothers, fathers, promises, dreams. Like the ebb and flow of the waves on a shore, at once they are there, and then gone. Pulled back into the depths of the ocean, like they never existed at all.
Though she still has some hopes for this city. Hopes that beyond the shadows there is light, there is a future. For Edwina.
What else could make Kate confine herself to this creaking, barren ship for six months? What else could make Kate sell her own soul to the only family not worthy of it? What else was there, other than Edwina. The light that had kept Kate moving all these years when all else was lost. And Kate knew she would happily bear any weight, any burden, if Edwina would find the happiness she deserved.
Kate would survive in this city, as she survived before, when everything had crumbled.
When she had almost crumbled.
When she had fallen into the shadows of her own life, claimed by the darkness sent to snuff out the colour of her past. The vividness of a life she had almost lived. Almost.
Though she tries to block it, that colour flashes behind her eyes. A kaleidoscope of memories that she has so desperately been trying to forget. With all her might, she tries to cast the memories away. Though they are insistent, always so insistent. She had expected it to fade, as she distanced herself with an ocean, yet somehow it seemed even more potent the closer she came to these shores.
Screwing her eyes closed Kate tries to force darkness, but in the shadows, hides her light.
Jet black jackets stark against the crisp white of their shirts, the gentleman reminded Kate of the magpies that pecked for their morning meal on the verdant green lawns. Stifling her giggle, she thought it amusing that, just like the magpies, the gentleman seemed intrinsically drawn to all that glittered. The sparkling whisky glasses held aloft upon trays carried by an army of servants, or the sparkling diamonds that adorned the necks of the young ladies.
If the men were distracted magpies, then Kate thought the ladies like butterflies. Elegant gowns of ruby red, sapphire blue and emerald green whirled across the polished wooden floors. Gliding elegantly, never settling anywhere for long as they fluttered around the room.
Kate knew she should stay where she was, hidden from sight amongst the lush undergrowth of the estate’s sprawling garden, but from here she could barely see the gowns. Barely take note of the jewels nor the feathers nor the tiaras. That was why she had snuck away, despite the clear orders of her father, so that she could just once experience the extravagance of one of the Governor’s balls. Kate longed to see what wonders these revered events held even though her father warned her she was too young for such things at only ten and eight.
Her curiosity would be the end of her, that was what Mary always said, and Kate prayed that it was not actually a premonition from her mama, as she bent low, sneaking a little further across the lawns until she was cramped up against the outer wall of the grand house.
Pressed against her back, the stone was still warm from a day braced against the Indian sun, even though it had long since descended from the sky. Considering her next move, Kate lifted the silks of her sari carefully so as to not damage the delicate fabric, before dropping to her knees and crawling a little further along the gravel path, ignoring the sharp imprint of the stones against her skin, until she found the perfect vantage spot.
An English rose bush, sapped of its strength in the unrelenting tropical heat, sat upon a small stone pillar just in front of a long row of expansive windows. Kate found that she could wedge herself between the pillar and the rose’s wilting branches and see almost the whole dance floor, whilst still staying mostly out of sight. Congratulating herself on her new position, she began to study the floor, smiling broadly as she took in the beauty before her.
This close, the serene notes of the violin were carried on the breeze to caress her ears, and Kate felt herself swaying gently in time to the music, her mind practising the steps Mary had taught her at home. One, two, three, one, two, three, and twirl.
Apparently though, she was too early for the dancing, and instead the guests seemed to be content to mill about the grand room. There were a few faces she recognised, the Governor was there of course, holding court and puffing his chest out like a peacock, just in case anyone did not know he was in charge. His jacket strained over his rotund stomach and his thick fingers sloshed the liquid in his glass as he laughed heartily along to his own joke.
The Governor was speaking with someone, a young man with his back turned to Kate. The man was smaller, slighter, but with proud, broad shoulders encased in a soft, midnight blue jacket that marked him out from the others somehow. Though Kate could not see his face, there was something in how the elder man focused on him, listening carefully to every word he was saying with genuine attention, that meant Kate could not steer her eyes away.
A mess of chestnut curls adorned the man's head. Somehow both chaotic and ordered at the same time. As his head bobbed lightly in conversation, the candlelight caught streaks of gold and Kate felt an inexplicable compulsion to run her fingers through the softness of his hair.
His hands were clasped behind his back and Kate watched as he wrung them tightly together. Anxious? Bored? Her eyes were mesmerised by how his fingers twisted and turned, never still, betraying the passivity of his posture that he put out to the rest of the room. This secret was being revealed only to her.
Desperate now to see him, Her breath hitched a little each time he turned his head, as if he may reveal himself, but each time he would settle forward again and Kate would sigh unhappily.
A shift in the breeze, and the violins suddenly became louder and with it too was carried a few snippets of conversation. The Governor's self-satisfied voice arrived first, sharp and nasal, but then another voice responded.
Velvet. The voice was like velvet and it blanketed Kate’s skin in gooseflesh.
The Governor was motioning towards the other side of the room then, holding out a hand as if ushering the man forward, but Kate was not ready for him to leave yet, she needed more. Needed to just glimpse his face. To see the colour of his eyes.
Unclasping his hands, the man shifted from one foot to the other, bouncing a little on the tips of his toes. And then turned.
And the world stopped spinning.
They claimed her, his eyes. Piercing through her as if he had held a dagger’s point straight to her heart. But it was not the burning copper hues of his eyes that held her so still, it was what she saw within. An echo of her own soul.
There was no surprise on his face that he had found her looking at him from beyond the ballroom. No hesitation, no discomfort, there was inevitability in it. As if he had been looking at her his whole life. As if he knew her every secret, her every wish, her every desire.
Like he knew every fibre of her being as if it were his own.
The deck, so quiet and isolated these last few months, is now a flurry of activity. Families gather at the edges in the hopes to catch a glimpse of long missing family. Sailors prepare rigging, haul ropes, shout and holler. Urgent as they taste a sense of freedom, the salty air mingling with the heavy, sooted air of the city.
Edwina has found her. Dressed in her finest day coat of soft pink, her eyes sparkling brighter than the sun.
“Can you believe it, didi, we are finally here. England.” It is a magical salve, her sisters smile. Soothing the sharp edges of Kate’s fears. “Do you think they are down there, waiting for us?”
“I am sure that they are bon, they promised to meet us here after all.” Kate manages a smile, hiding away her nerves when she sees Mary is seeking them amongst the melee. Their mama is doing a less admirable job of hiding her concern, it is etched across her face, scarring her beautiful face with lines of worry. Kate holds out a steady arm for her mama, which the woman takes gratefully, as the three Sharma’s begin their descent down the gangplank.
The port is even more chaotic than the deck, but still Kate sees them clearly. Even without having ever seen a likeness, there is no doubt who they are. There is something about the stillness of the man, the haughty way he holds himself as his eyes scan the bustling crowd with distastes, that marks him out as the cold hand from the letters they exchanged. Though it is the woman that gives them away, she has Mary’s eyes. Large, beautiful almonds, though these hold none of the kindness that her daughter’s bestow.
Edwina squeals in excitement when she sees her grandparents and the reunion is almost sweet. Innocuous conversations about the journey and the ship follow, all giddy smiles, until at last the older couple finally deign to acknowledge the other two present. They bow to Mary as though she is a stranger. Kate receives a curt nod.
A recognition of the gift she has carried across the seas, perhaps.
Then they pile into a waiting carriage, the door closing on the mayhem beyond and it is suddenly stifling within. Five veritable strangers and an awkward silence.
“Your ship was an hour behind schedule.” The earl’s accusing eyes fall on Kate.
“I am sorry.” Kate apologises, as if she is responsible for the tides. Lord Sheffield huffs, satisfied he has found someone to blame.
“We like to have our tea at three. We will have to have it later now.” Lady Sheffield is saying to nobody in particular, as her husband spins his pocket watch in his hand, eyes rolling when he sees the time. Kate looks out the window, watching the slate grey of the city fly past her.
The copper eyes have sought the face of his pocket watch a dozen times in the last quarter of an hour. She wonders what he is counting down to. The silver catches in the burning candles each time, drawing her eyes, not that they have strayed far from him for long.
He had spotted her watching him twice more.
The first time was incidental. He had been sipping champagne, surrounded by a flurry of fawning ladies, fluttering fans and eyelashes. It had blocked her view of him, and so Kate had shifted from her hiding spot to better see him. In her movement, his eyes found her. They’d rooted her to the spot, taking her a few moments before she could gather her senses and slip back into the shadows.
The next time, there was no pretence. He had been standing with a group of older gentlemen, listening passively, the pocket watch stealing his attention more than their conversation. Eventually, he had left them and walked to the edge of the ballroom, where the huge windows looked out upon the lawns. He’d stood there a while, quietly looking out. Watching. Waiting.
Kate thought if she stayed still, she would remain out of sight. The darkness keeping her safe from his searching eyes. But he found her in the shadows. Eyes brimming with curiosity. Sparkling with mischief.
Then he smiled and his face transformed. Dimples, he had dimples.
Her whole world became light.
An unexpected voice to her side startles her. “What are you doing out here, Kate.” The whisper is urgent. “Does your father know you are here?”
“Uncle?” Kate exclaims, her eyes following the voice to find the concerned face of Mr Dalal, the butler, his eyebrows knotted and arms crossed firmly.
“You should not be here, you know that.” His face is stern, but there is a lightness in his eyes. He always had a soft spot for Kate, ever since she was toddling amongst the estate lawns. He would sneak her hard-boiled sweets while her father was in meetings with the master. “If I were to tell your father I found you out here…”
“No, please uncle. Do not.” She slips from her hiding place, taking a few quick steps to join Mr Patel on the small path leading into the main house. “I just wanted to look, I meant no harm, it’s just all so glamorous and beautiful, I could not resist seeing it for myself.”
“You have always been a curious young thing, but so impatient. I am sure you will have your fair share of balls in your future. Though until then, I suggest you heed your father who I am fairly certain did not give you permission to be a spectator this evening?” He waited for Kate to shake her head, face studying the tips of her toes. “Now, come child, off home with you and quickly.”
“Yes uncle.” Kate allowed herself one final look back at the ballroom, but the boy had gone. The window’s golden glow just framing dancing couples and whisky-sipping gentlemen looking on from the side-lines.
With the vigilant eyes of Mr Dalal watching on, Kate tiptoed back along the gravelled path, trying not to make a sound. Trailing her fingers along the coarse stone wall that encircled the house, she wondered idly if the boy had joined the dancing. Did he have his name against one of the beautiful ladies dance cards? Would he have put his name against hers if she were old enough to attend, and allowed to by the grace of the Governor?
Rounding the corner of the house, she took her first step onto the manicured lawns that would lead her back to her family's cottage on the other side of the estate, when a sound found her from the darkness. Someone clearing their throat, and then…
“Hello.” It was velvet.
Sheffield House is much like its owners. Cold, miserly and unwelcoming.
A banquet of flavourless sandwiches and tiny cakes is laid out for the ladies as they arrive at the house, and Kate picks at the unappealing feast as her host coos over her sister, leaving Kate and her mamas to themselves. The genuine delight on Edwina’s face is almost enough to help Kate swallow down the milky, tepid excuse for tea she has just been served.
“You have your first ball tomorrow, my dear, and you must make a memorable entrance.” Lady Sheffield asserts, her lips curling in a grotesque attempt of a smile. “I have arranged for us to visit the modiste this very afternoon.”
“You have?” Edwina looks straight to Kate, her eyes alight.
“Of course, no expense is to be spared for my only grandchild’s presentation to society.” The lady’s words make Edwina pause, until Kate gives her a reassuring smile.
“Well that sounds just wonderful, does it not, bon? How fortunate you are.” Kate insists, desperate to avoid the crease on Edwina’s brow deepening. “Why do you not take a moment to refresh yourself before you are to leave?”
“Good idea, Kate.” Edwina finally nods in agreement, standing to brush down her skirts. “I am a little weary from my travel, and would like to be at my best for my first trip into the city. Will you not wish to do the same, Kate?”
“I feel a small headache coming on, I would prefer to stay here with mama and we can get ourselves settled.” Kate says quickly, not wishing for Edwina to realise that the invitation had clearly only been for her.
“Very well, dear.” Lady Sheffield barely waits for Kate to finish. “Let me show you to your rooms. We can be on our way the moment you are ready.” The older lady places a hand at the small of Edwina’s back, guiding her eagerly from the room, whispering something into Edwina’s ear that causes the young girl to giggle sweetly.
Alone, Mary reached a hand across the settee they share to take Kate’s hand in her own.
“It is for the best, darling.”
“I know, mama.” Kate squeezes her mother’s hand, grateful to have her by her side.
“You were watching me.” There was no accusation in the words, just curiosity, as his eyes bounced across her face searchingly. If she had thought him handsome from a distance, up close he was devastating.
“You were watching me.” she retorted quickly
“It is hard not to.” His eyes flashed darkly as he said it, and it made Kate take a sharp intake of breath.
“You are bold, sir.”
“You are beautiful.” That stops her breathing entirely. Letting his eyes drop slowly, it was greedy, the way they travelled over each inch of her and yet left her even hungrier for more. “Why are you not at the ball?”
“I was not invited, my Lord.” Her eyes dropped, embarrassed.
The flickering candlelight from the ballroom found them all the way out there in the gardens, and it played with their shadows. Kate watched the performance at her feet, entranced, as her shadow and this boy’s merged and parted as they caught the light through the trees as they moved in the soft breeze, like a silent dance.
“I imagine the other ladies feared they would be outshone should you attend?'' His tone was light, teasing, but the words settled so heavily on her that Kate could not find the words to respond.
The heat of the evening was suddenly too intense, the darkness too powerful beneath his gaze. His confidence wavered when she did not respond, the brightness of his smile dimming a little in his uncertainty. “I have overstepped, I am sorry. I find myself a little tongue tied. I just mean to say…you are beautiful.”
“You already said that.” Kate was relieved her voice held the teasing tone she hoped for and did not betray how nervous he was making her.
“If I say it again will you tell me your name?”
Stop. Kate tells herself that she must stop. No good can come from these memories. What use is it reliving the past when your future is set so clearly.
Throwing open the heavy lid of her trunk, Kate drops heavily to her knees, scouring haphazardly through the contents. Books and papers are pushed aside, trinkets and jewellery thrown upon the bed until finally she finds her treasure. Wrapped in delicate sheets of blue paper, the fragrance alone is enough to soothe her frayed nerves. Leaning back on her haunches, she holds the soap up to her nose and inhales. Lilies.
The servants are calling her again, the water no doubt growing cold, and finally Kate acquiesces, following the voices to the waiting bath tub. As she crosses the room she begins to remove her hair pins, shaking her bountiful curls free from their tight bun, and carefully unclasps the well-worn metal chain adorning her wrist, as always its absence feels heavier than the metal.
As Kate sinks beneath the tepid water, she can feel the layers of salt and brine wash from her skin, peeling away to reveal a raw, unsullied version of herself. Emerging slowly, the lilies mingle with her troubled mind and offer an absolution.
But not for long.
“I have not seen you before.” Kate knew that she would have noticed this boy had he visited the estate. She would never forget those eyes.
“I just arrived this week. I am here to meet with the Governor.”
“What about?”
He paused before answering, tilting his head slightly as if to try to read her. “Some business matters.” She waited for more, and he smiled brightly to himself as he realised she was clearly not satisfied with such a response. “My family wishes to make some investments in the area, purchase some land and businesses, and I am here to see if they are in line with our expectations and values.”
“Where are you from?” Kate was running the gauzy edge of her sari through her fingers gently, to try to quell her nerves. The movement drew his eyes, and they burned a path across her skin as they hovered a little too long over the bare skin that peeked above her skirts. He folded his bottom lip beneath his teeth before looking back up at her eyes.
“England.” he stated, with a slight tremor in his voice.
“England? That is far to travel for a man so young. Why did you father not come?”
“Do you always ask so many questions?” The tone is barbed, but his eyes dance with humour and intrigue.
“Yes.” Kate retorted matter of factly, and a little spark of pride bloomed in her chest when he laughed loudly. It was a beautiful sound, his laugh, and it wedged itself in his chest.
“My father is eager for me to become a man of my own. Seeing the world will do that, he tells me, so here I am.”
“England. How wonderful.” Kate knew of it only through her books, and from tidbits of conversation she heard from the estate guests when she was lucky enough to be allowed to join parties or hunts.
“It is grey compared with this.” He looked about them both now, pausing as if to take in the heady essence of evening, laden with floral scents from the garden, the night alive with a symphony of insects and birds, above the gentle strings of the violins from the ballroom. “Everything here is so vivid, so alive, so…” He turned back to her then, holding her eyes carefully. “So enchanting.”
Another sound found them in the darkness then. The clink of metal against glass as the distant humdrum of the guests grew hushed.
“Ah, time for a toast, it seems. I actually think it is for me, so I should probably…” he motioned toward the house with a slight nod of his head, yet made no other attempt to move. His eyes still firmly locked into hers.
“Then I suppose I must bid you goodnight.” Kate said as she dropped her sari from her hands, holding herself up straight.
“Good night?” The velvet is back in his voice, soft like a caress. “Not goodbye? So you will see me again?”
“Perhaps.” She doesn't know when they had moved closer to each other but now she seemed to be firmly in his orbit, pulled inextricably towards him as she lost herself to the intensity in his eyes, and the way his lips quivered against the flicker of the candlelight beyond.
“Perhaps?” He said through a smile. “I am quite certain that I shall see you again. There is no doubt that you will fill my dreams tonight. You are impossibly beautiful, Miss…”
“Kathani.” The name rushed from her lips, breathlessly. “You may call me Kathani.”
“Kathani.” he repeated reverently, and it had never sounded so sweet. “I am Anthony.”
He bowed, theatrically, and she curtsied in response. And it was all easy smiles and strange familiarity, even as something seems to shatter and rebuild itself within her,
“So, tomorrow?” His eyes wide and pleading.
“Perhaps.” She swayed a little on the spot, the edges of her sari clasping across the gravel beneath her feets as she pretended to weigh up her options. Though she knew she was barely holding back her smile, knew her eyes must be giving her away, and he laughed, bold and bright, before she acquiesced. “Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow came, even when she wished it would not. Her first English morning is another blanket of grey. A weak dawn sun tries to penetrate the morning mist as it settles across Hyde Park’s empty paths, as Kate pushes her mare forward and faster.
It does not seem to matter what she does, how fast she rides, how far she travels, she cannot shake the memories nor the regrets. They chase her always, unforgiving and relentless.
Nine long years since she had seen that smile, and yet why would it not cease in stalking her. Like weeds claiming an unloved garden, they poke and prod and make room for themselves, even when she starves light.
Her heels squeeze tightly against the mare’s heaving chest as they both fight to maintain their pace, but they move quicker still, darting across the expansive grounds. Running from thoughts hell bent on catching her.
“Woah there.” It is velvet.
Damn. Why does her mind tease her so, why does the memory of his voice plague her like this?
They are devious, these memories, how they chase her across the park. Hammering ceaselessly like horses hooves behind her. Nipping at her heels. The faster she rides, the more they match her. Only one step behind now.
How will she learn to live a life in quietness, to make peace with the promises that never came true? How will she ever escape the ghost that will never let her be, will never release her.
A small copse blocks her path, and she narrows her eyes in determination. A final kick, a steady set of her shoulders, and she launches herself high. The voice is still there, but quieter now. Distant. Perhaps finally, she is moving on.
Hooves skid as they land, and Kate twists in her saddle to find her balance. Whipping her hood from her head, she shakes her head sharply in hope it may clear her mind. Though still it feels like the phantom watches. Waits. Like he never left.
Taking a steadying breath, she looks back. The ghost does not disappear.
It claims her eyes. The copper burns just as brightly, her own reflection just as clear.
And the world stopped spinning.