It's been a while since I've updated this, due to moving and also work on another non spooks fic. Anyway a short update is below.
Jo: Delhi, 19 October
Three weeks had passed since she'd arrived back in Delhi. A few days after the monsoon season had stopped as abruptly as it had began, two officers had arrived at her door with strict instructions from Captain North that she was to accompany them to the city. She'd enquired what had happened to Captain North and had been informed that he'd left Delhi and was headed for Lucknow, to relieve the company there. It seemed unlikely he would return for several weeks.
The journey to Delhi had taken three hours and once they'd arrived she had been installed in a spacious bungalow with a dozen other British ladies and three soldiers to watch them. Once the rains stopped, the plains of the Punjab grew uncomfortably hot once again.
At first the ladies of the house had welcomed her to their fold and she had been content to sit with them sewing or reading to while away the interminable hours. Mrs Hawker, a sharp tongued matron of fifty took malicious delight in regaling tales of the horrors of the mutiny – how her neighbour's family had been chopped to pieces in the attack and she and her husband had escaped only by virtue of a quick flight in their barouche landeau to the city gates.
In the evenings officers would visit them as the house was one of the few places they could hope to receive a decent meal. After dinner they would often play cards, and Maria Delacourt, who had a sweet, if untutored voice, would sometimes sing sad songs of home.
In the first week thing had settled into a routine, which if somewhat tedious, at least was comforting in that it reminded her of how things had been before rebellion had broken out.
In the second week things had changed. It had started when Lottie Buiste and Evelyn Randle had been chattering in the corner with Lieutenant Howse. This had been accompanied by murmurs of shocked disapproval hushed under cover of fans and much raising of eyebrows in her direction.
The next morning at breakfast no one had said a word to her, and Lottie had cut her directly when she'd asked her to pass the teapot. When Mrs Hawker arrived she made the reason for her disapproval clear. "Miss Carter," she'd said as Jo had stood to exit the room, "I think it best if you keep to your room as much as possible in the future," she began haughtily.
Jo had looked back at her unsure of what social faux pas she was supposed to have committed. Mrs Hawker was quick to enlighten her.
"It seems that your behaviour during these past few months has not been that of a lady, or so one of the officers informs me. An unmarried woman who engages in liaisons with the likes of Lieutenant Rodgers cannot be accepted here. Your presence would put into question all of our reputations," she finished, pursing her lips and peering at her distastefully.
Jo took a step back, clutching her hand to her chest. She remembered his name now. Lieutenant Ian Rodgers. The man who had killed Zaf. The same man who had raped her. She must have seen him once or twice before at a ball or a cricket game or some other occasion. Adam had disliked him quite firmly she recalled – and for good reason.
"It wasn't a liaison," she started, only to be cut off.
"Lottie heard it from Lietenant Howse, who is an eminently good natured Christian gentleman who is not given to slander. A lady's good reputation once lost is difficult to regain. I cannot allow your lack of judgement to sully the good names of the other ladies here. Why think of what an association with someone of questionable virtue would do to young Miss Delacourt's chances of marrying well - she is not yet eighteen! I am sure that you will see that the wisest course of action is for you to disassociate yourself from us."
Jo looked up at her to see Mrs Hawker's eyes narrow as she surveyed her up and down. She had briefly considered trying to explain the truth, but she hardly knew where to start. That would probably make her cry and Mrs Hawker, who now seemed entirely incapable of sympathy or pity, would probably just tell her it was her own fault anyway.
"I see," Jo replied, squaring herself, so that her chin was raised and her spine straight. "If that is the way you feel then I shall take my meals in my room and won't trouble you again."
After that she was careful to stay to her room during the daytime. It was still unbearably hot in the afternoons, and she spent her time reading or sewing, listlessly whiling away the hours, not knowing what would become of her. Her thoughts would sometimes stray to Lucas, and she wondered where he was now and whether he was safe.
In the evenings often she would sneak down the stairs and sit outside, delighting with guilty pleasure in the feel of the breeze upon her skin and in her hair, as she listened to the sound of the cicadas. Sometimes Captain John Burke, a handsome young man in his early 30s would come out to sit with her. She'd been lonely these past few weeks, and she was glad of the company.
It was hard for her to shake the feeling that she was in purgatory – waiting for outside events to resolve themselves so that her fate may finally be determined. She had spent these past few weeks waiting for Lucas to return, but now she was beginning to wonder if he ever would.