“Here we are!”called out Mrs. Dunstan as the women returned to the kitchen. “And how have you gentlemen been getting on? Vegetables peeled and in the pot? Poor Miss Rangaswamy is famished.”
David rose to his feet from the oak worktable where he and Mr. Charwood sat, sharing a pint of ale.
“In the pot and boiling,” he said. He turned to Charwood and winked, then turned back to the women. “Did you doubt us? And Mr. Charwood has seen fit to pour me a mug of your delicious ale from Summerworth Park.” He raised his mug before him, smiling.
He dropped his smile as he looked at Rani. “And how are you, Miss Rangaswamy? Feeling better?”
“Oh yes, sir, yes, yes,” she said. “Mrs. Dunstan give me this fine dress to wear,” she said, running her hands down the sides, “And shown me to a pretty little yellow-and-white room to sleep in. She says it is a nursemaid’s room. But it is so fine! It has a chair that rocks,” she said, rocking back and forth. “The house is so pretty,” she said earnestly. “Are all houses like this?”
David and Mrs. Dunstan laughed. Charwood sneered.
“No,” David said. “And the Earl’s home is bigger and grander.”
“Oh-h-h,” she said, wide-eyed.
David looked over at Mrs. Dunstan. “I’ve taken the liberty of putting some water on to boil. I think Miss Rangaswamy could use a nice hot cup of tea.”
“Excellent, idea, Mr. Thornbridge. I would say your father did you right in your rearing.”
David smiled. “Thank you, I think.”
Mrs. Dunstan bustled about the kitchen, setting out the tea things and broad, shallow bowls for their stew on the table. She pulled a white, bleached towel off a loaf of bread on the sideboard and cut them each a thick slab. “We will eat in here instead of the Servants’ Hall. With so few of us in the house, we don’t light the fire in there.”
“That is fine with me,” David said.
“Sit, child,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Rani as she gathered up the slices.
David pulled out a chair for her at the table. She looked from it to him, then sat down on the edge of the chair, her hands primly positioned in her lap. She looked from one to the other, wide-eyed.
Mrs. Dunstan slid into her chair, then offered a prayer before the meal. David noted Rani bow her head for the prayer. The kitchen was quiet as they ate, the only sounds the clanking of spoons against bowls and the slurping of stew. David covertly watched Rani. She ate avidly; however, she pushed the meat to the side of the bowl. Mrs. Dunstan also noted she didn’t eat the meat.
“You don’t eat meat?” she asked.
Rani screwed up her nose. “Not much. I did not have it as a child and have not liked it now,” she said simply.
“Isn’t that a religious taboo in India?” David asked.
“For many, yes. I was raised in my uncle’s house. When he became Christian, we did, too. We could eat meat, but the price, it is high. So, we did not.”
She took another spoonful of stew, then looked up at Mr. Thornbridge, then over to Mrs. Dunstan. “You are certain Sir James and Lady Branstoke will help me find Krishan?”
“Lord, child, to whisper the word ‘kidnap’ is to send Lady Branstoke into action. She is a tiger, that one is,” Mrs. Dunstan said.
“And perforce, this sends Sir James into action to see her safe,” David said drily.
Rani shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Last spring, she was convinced her former husband was murdered,” said Ms. Dunstan.
“Murdered?”
“Yes. And she was determined to discover who killed him.”
“She asked me to do some investigation,” David said. “I discovered he was involved with a scheme to kidnap young women and sell them as concubines in the Mid-East.”
“And you nearly lost your life for that discovery, too,” admonished Mrs. Dunstan.
David nodded. “Sir James took it upon himself to protect Lady Branstoke—who was Mrs. Waddley at the time.”
