It's only two days late! It was a very hard chapter to write, probably because I discovered some surprising things about the characters as I was writing. I had to rewrite several times to get things straight. I hope it all makes sense.

Next week, we'll see at least one more familiar face!

Chapter Four
September 19, 1934
Bombay

The Juliette left the Bombay port September 1st, nearly three weeks before the Orion Society came down from the Matheran hill station.

In the harbor master's office, located in the northern end of the docks, Denham and the Ashfields waited in the reception area and listened to the muffled argument between Beaufort and the harbor master, an ex-Navy man named Hillcroft. Denham stood at the assistant's desk and put on his own performance. No one in the room – including two clerks with a shared desk – paid him any attention. The assistant, a thin little man with a blank expression, tapped away at a typewriter as Denham shouted at him.

"Someone's going to get sued!" Denham cried, banging a fist on the desk.

"It's not our fault, sir," the thin man said. A pair of round spectacles perched on the end of his nose. His eyes never left his work. "We can't force anyone to remain in port without good reason."

"Carl," Laura said. She and Robert sat a few meters away in the only available chairs. Robert read a newspaper he'd taken from the assistant's desk. In the harbor master's office, Beaufort's voice rose in a crescendo of threatening force; Laura couldn't discern the words.

Denham continued his own tirade. "Fulver had an agreement with us. We gave him a deposit!"

"And he returned it," the assistant said, "which releases him from his contractual obligations. That's not our concern."

"Carl," Laura said again, and this time he glanced at her. She gestured him over.

"This is ridiculous," he said, but he stepped away from the desk toward Laura. Rising from her seat, she put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him into the chair. He crossed his arms over his chest and muttered under his breath.

"Stop it," Laura said. "You're like children, you and Beaufort both. Nothing's bringing the Juliette back now. We'll find another boat."

"It can't be just any boat," said Denham. "We have specific requirements."

"Such as?"

Denham glanced at Robert, who did not look up from his newspaper. "That's Beaufort's business," he said.

Laura's interest in Beaufort's business had all but vanished during the morning's train ride from Matheran. The tycoon had spent the two-hour trip going through an atlas with Denham. She'd been relieved to learn that the Juliette had sailed; now she could find her own way back to America and forget she had ever been involved with the Society. She'd help the Society ship out of Bombay, but that didn't mean she had to go with them.

Tapping Robert on the shoulder, Laura said, "We can start looking for a new transport now."

"What?" Robert folded the paper and dropped it on the floor next to his chair. Denham elbowed him. "I wasn't listening."

"A boat," Laura said. She removed her coat from the rack next to the door and slipped it on. "If Carl tells us what Beaufort needs, we can get to work."

Robert glanced uncertainly at Denham.

"You guys should take a break," said the director. He jumped out of the chair and grabbed Robert's jacket from the rack. "Don't John and his family still live in Bombay?"

"John's probably sailing across the Pacific on some steamer," Laura said.

"Right, ever the sailor," Denham replied. He shoved the jacket into Robert's hands and pulled him to his feet. Robert just stared at him. "But I doubt he takes the wife and kids with him."

"Carl," Laura said, studying him with a practiced gaze, "are you trying to get rid of us?"

Denham gaped at her with wide, innocent eyes. "How can you say that? I just thought you might like to take a break for a day, after all the work you've put in these past weeks."

Laura crossed her arms and glared at him.

"Robert," Denham cried, "talk some sense into your sister."

"You did say you wanted to see Saroja and the kids before we leave Bombay," Robert said as he put on his jacket.

That Laura could not deny. She knew better than to believe that John might actually be in the city – such was the life of a sailor – but Saroja and the children were here. She hadn't seen her niece since she left Bombay in 1926, and she'd never seen her two nephews. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't leave without visiting them.

"We'll meet you at the hotel," she said to Denham.

He nodded. "Yes, of course. Don't worry about us; we'll find something."

Of that, Laura had no doubt. With Carl Denham, things often worked out for themselves.

The Ashfields of Bombay lived in a modest flat in a residential area near the ports. From their living room window, they could see the masts and smokestacks that represented John's livelihood. Laura sat at the little kitchen table and watched Saroja prepare a pot of tea. In the living room, Robert played card games with the older children, Mary and Paul.

"It's better than the previous flat we had," Saroja was saying. She moved easily about the little kitchen, stepping over Gilbert, the youngest of the three children, as she brought two cups of the tea to the table. He grinned up at them with typical toddler joy before going back to carefully arranging his wooden blocks and knocking them down with his little fists. "We needed the extra bedroom."

"It's still a far cry from the hill house," said Laura. She wrapped her hand around the cup and enjoyed the warmth. The day was overcast and windy, a precursor to the milder weather to come after the end of the monsoons. Despite the clouds, she didn't think the rains would come today.

Saroja sipped her tea. "This way, John can do what he loves."

"He could make more money as a hunter."

"He still is a hunter."

"But if he gave up this sailing business, he could earn more money and be closer to you and the kids."

Leaning toward Gilbert to steady his block tower, Saroja said nothing.

"I'm sorry," Laura said. "I didn't come here to lecture you."

The Indian woman's features softened as she straightened in her chair. "All that time we spent in the mountains – you know how much he missed the water."

"He couldn't avoid it forever, could he? He always loved the water. Not even the war could change that."

"It's easier for him if he's traveling. When he's standing still, he can't help but think – I don't know." She shook her head. "I can't understand that part of him. You're probably the only one who can."

Laura wanted to end this line of conversation, so she said, "How goes the sailing business then?"

"He's on a new boat, the Venture. He hired on about six months ago."

"He didn't like the Agostino?"

"Something about the captain; he wouldn't talk to me about it," Saroja said with a shrug of her slim shoulders. She seemed to withdraw suddenly, her eyes becoming blank and distant.

Without another word, she stood, and it surprised Laura to see that the Hindi woman's hands shook. As she leaned over and picked up Gilbert, the boy let out an enraged shriek. He reached for his blocks, but Saroja ignored him, carrying him into the living room. When she returned, she pulled shut the partition, but the boy's cries carried through the thin sliding door. Saroja returned to the table, and for several moments, the two women sat in silence at the table, until Gilbert's cries faded into soft hiccups.

"He's at Mahabaleshwar," Saroja said, staring into her empty tea cup, "with the Venture crew."

Laura sat up straight in her chair. Mahabaleshwar was, like Matheran, a hill station in the mountains, a summer resort for the wealthy residents of Bombay. If he was in the mountains with his ship's crew, then the ship must be in port. And if the ship was in port, she and Robert could at least find out its next destination; any stop in America would make her happy. Even if they couldn't book passage on the Venture, John would have connections in the Bombay port that could be just as useful.

Not for the first time in their lives, John proved to be her saving grace.

It took Laura a moment to realize that Saroja was staring wide-eyed at her, lips trembling and eyes glistening with unshed tears. She began to ask what was wrong, but Saroja fell out of her chair and onto her knees. Grasping the hem of Laura's skirt, she knelt on the floor, rocking back and forth, sobs shaking her body. Laura leaned back in her chair, shocked at the emotional display from a woman she had always thought to be completely in control.

"Please!" Saroja cried, and her tears discolored the skirt's fabric. "Don't take him from us; we need him more than you do."

Laura grabbed Saroja by her shoulders and had to stop herself from shaking the woman. "Get up, Saroja. I don't understand what you mean."

Saroja only shook her head, tears flowing down her dark face. From her purse, Laura produced a handkerchief, and she slipped out of her chair to sit on the floor next to her sister-in-law. As the other woman cried, Laura wrapped her arms around her and wiped her eyes, but the tears kept coming. She had never seen Saroja cry before, not even during Mary's birth.

"Saroja, please," she said, "this won't help you. Tell me what's wrong."

"Basket," said Saroja, gasping for breath between her sobs. "Next to my chair."

Saroja had been in the kitchen sewing patches on the boys' play clothes when Laura and Robert arrived. Now, Laura looked up and saw the sewing basket sitting on the floor by the table. She reached over and pulled it to her, moving a bit away from Saroja. Nestled in with the sewing items were several folded slips of papers – letters, from what Laura could tell. She pulled them out and unfolded them. Without looking at the return address, she recognized the handwriting at once.

"These are from my mother," Laura said, and Saroja's crying started anew.

Laura placed the sheets of paper on the floor and skimmed them. Margaret Ashfield had never written to Saroja – had not written even to John after the marriage in 1923 – but over the past six weeks, she had sent five letters to her son's family. As Laura looked over them and discovered Margaret's reason for writing, she began to understand Saroja's despair.

Send him home, the letters pleaded. Let him go. His father is dying, he has to come home, you know you cannot keep him. He doesn't belong in your world. You don't belong in ours.

Sliding over to Saroja, Laura again put her arm around her sister-in-law, whose sobs had at last subsided. Saroja wiped at her eyes with Laura's damp handkerchief.

"I'm sorry," said Laura. "She's never understood."

Saroja sniffled and struggled to find her voice without sobbing again. "For eleven years, nothing but silence from her. Not a letter, not a card, not a gift for the children. And then she writes that you're coming to Bombay, that your father is dying, that John must go home."

"This is his home. That's what she doesn't understand."

"I'm such a fool. I thought she sent you to take him back. He told me you wouldn't do that, and I should have believed him. But then you were at the door, and you had Robert with you, and what was I to think?"

Laura squeezed her hand. "It's alright. Didn't you get my letters?"

"Yes. We just didn't realize how sick Sir Walter is. John kept saying he'd get better."

"Well," Laura said with a sigh, "John's always been an optimist."

After a pause, Saroja asked, "Is he really dying?"

"For all I know, he may already be dead."

"You mother would have sent a telegram. She says as much, in her letters."

"When he dies, John will have to come to New York, if only to help settle things. I'm not sure I can do it alone."

"What about the baronetcy?"

"That's John's decision."

"Is it?" Saroja replied with a frown. "He doesn't want it. The title, the estate – he's not interested in it."

Laura didn't answer. To even discuss the matter was pointless; she had no control over what John decided to do with the inheritance, and she didn't know how she felt about it anyway. The estate in England had to be rented out to pay for its high costs, and the title itself meant little now. But the baronetcy had, for generations, been the identity of her family. They had British cousins ready to take the title from their hands, and she wasn't sure she could support John if he just wanted to give it over to them. It was another item on the list of things she had to worry about.

"I came here to see you and the children," Laura said to steer the conversation away from Sir Walter's impeding death, "not to take John away from you. Robert and I had business in Bombay."

"Your mother didn't mention that," said Saroja. The tears had stopped, and she breathed in easier.

"She wanted to scare you. You already know why. Sometimes even good people have prejudices."

Saroja looked down at the handkerchief, wrapping it around her fingers. "I know. It's really why John can't get a job in the hill stations; he can't make the right connections. And I think it's why he left the Agostino. The captain of the Venture doesn't seem to care that his children are half-breeds."

Laura kissed her sister-in-law on the forehead and helped her to her feet. "I don't care either. They're lovely children, and that's because they look like you. Now, listen to me, because I think John can help me. Robert and I are stuck here, and we need to get home. You said that John's at Mahabaleshwar?"

Saroja nodded. "They've been all over the mountains, looking for tiger."

"When are they coming down?"

"Any day. The client wants the cargo before the beginning of December."

"What's the destination?"

"California."

"That's fine. From there, Robert and I can take a train to New York."

"But," Saroja said, "the Venture is a cargo steamer."

"I'm hoping they'll make an exception for two people."

"I can give you the docking number, but I can't say for certain when they'll be back."

"No worries. I'll wait." She gave Saroja's hand another squeeze and led her to the partition door. "He'll never leave you, especially not for Mother. He doesn't care what people think."

"Thank you, Laura."

Smiling, Laura opened her purse and took out a small yellow pad and pencil. She wrote down the Venture's docking number (a complicated series of alphanumerics that Laura found typical of the Bombay ports), the name of her captain (Englehorn), and the name of her First Mate (Kendrie). John had been hired as much for his hunting skills as for his nautical training – the Venture's specialty was live animal capture.

In the living room, Robert sat on the floor and entertained the children with card tricks he had picked up during his European travels. Even red-eyed Gilbert laughed and clapped his hands. Despite his finesse at legerdemain, Robert had never been a successful gambler; he'd never quite developed a proper bluff.

"Is everything alright?" he asked as the women came out of the kitchen.

"Just fine," Laura replied. "But it's time for us to go."

The children let out a chorus of groans as Robert got to his feet, and the clung to him while he kissed the tops of their heads and said goodbye. Laura did think they were lovely children – with their large dark eyes and silky black hair – and their skin was not too dark to mark them as Anglo-Indians. Mary, now ten years old, already had the makings of a slender figure that would no doubt garner her much attention in a few years. Laura wished she'd thought to bring a camera box so she could take proof to Margaret that John's children were not the ugly little half-blood goblins she seemed to believe they were. Perhaps she'd even recognize a young John in Paul's shining, dreaming eyes.

Laura sat on the balcony of her room after dinner, reading a book of Indian poetry and enjoying the evening breeze. She had a pleasant view of the hotel's large courtyard, lit by shaded electric lamps and landscaped with colorful native flora. A few pairs and trios of guests moved through the shadows, and faint laughter filled the air. She could almost forget the city on the other side of the courtyard's walls; even the street noises seemed distant.

Her eyes passed over the Hindi words on the page, but her mind was not on the poetry. She thought instead of her father and the telegram that had been waiting for her when she had returned to her room that afternoon.

FATHER IN COMA. STOP. COME HOME AND BRING BROTHERS. STOP. MAMA.

Eight words, all that it took to stop her heart and seal her decision. In the morning, she would go to the Venture and wait for John to return. She would accept no more excuses from him. He couldn't avoid New York any longer; their father was dying. What he did after that was his business, but she'd be damned if she just let him pretend he had no obligations to the family.

When she'd gone to Robert's room to show him the telegram, he'd said, "Tell me what to do."

"Have you told anyone about the Venture?" she'd asked.

He'd shaken his head.

"Say nothing about it. In the morning, go about your business as though nothing has changed. All you have to do is wait for me to make the arrangements. Promise me you won't tell Beaufort or Carl."

He'd promised.

A reply to Margaret's telegram couldn't be sent until the morning, but Laura already knew what to say.

WE ARE COMING. STOP. LAURA.

A knock at the door disrupted her thoughts, and she stood, placing the poetry book on the balcony table. Her dressing gown brushed the tops of her slippers.

When she opened the door, Robert stood on the other side, still dressed in the suit he had worn to dinner. He smelled of brandy and cigar smoke.

"Beaufort wants to see you," he said.

Laura glanced at the ornate clock on the wall: a quarter after ten. "Can't it wait until morning?"

"No," he said. Shifting his weight on his feet, he avoided meeting her gaze. His evasiveness convinced her that she didn't want to ignore the summons; better to confront Beaufort to his face than deal with the unknown in the morning.

"Let me get dressed," she said, and she closed the door on him.

As she put on a simple blouse and skirt, she kept herself from making hasty conclusions. No matter what Beaufort wanted this impromptu meeting to be about, she would not waver from her decision. She and Robert would return to New York; Beaufort could do nothing to change that.

Robert escorted her to Beaufort's suite, saying nothing. The change in his behavior did nothing to put Laura at ease.

Denham answered Beaufort's door. "Sorry," he said as he let in the two visitors. "We didn't wake you, did we?"

"No," she said, and she looked around Beaufort's suite as she spoke.

His room had a sitting room separate from the bedroom, and he sat in one of the plush chairs arranged around a class-topped coffee table. The doors leading to the balcony had been opened, but the heavy scents of Beaufort's cigars and Carl's pipe lingered in the room. Beaufort did not look up as Laura and Robert entered; he held a telegram in one hand and a cigar in the other.

"I think we've solved our transportation problems, Miss Ashfield," he said. Putting the telegram aside, he gestured to a chair.

Laura sat, hanging on the edge of the chair as though ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. Beaufort smiled at her, showing his teeth in a predatory way. She said, "You've found another boat?"

"Perhaps. It depends on your brother."

"Oh?" She kept herself from turning to look at Robert. He stood at the suite's bar to her right, mixing a drink and keeping his back to her.

"You misunderstand me," Beaufort said. "I meant John."

It took everything in her to remain still, to reveal nothing to him. Most of her anger she directed to herself; she should have known better than to trust Robert to keep his promise, even when it came to their father. He had told her only what she wanted to hear.

"It's not a passenger ship," Laura said.

"But you think you can book passage, don't you?" replied Beaufort.

"I don't know. I'll have to speak to John about it."

"The Venture has taken on passengers before, hasn't it, Carl?"

Carl, standing next to Robert at the bar, looked surprised at the question. "I – Well, yes, it has."

Bloody hell, she thought. The boat that brought Kong to New York. I should have known.

Beaufort set his cigar in an ashtray on the table and leaned forward, his unruly bangs falling into his face. The day must have had a real effect on him; dark circles had developed under his eyes, and his mouth drew down at the corners. He said, "Are you in a hurry to leave Bombay?"

Laura folded her hands into her lap and tried to look as calm as possible. "Our father has lapsed into a coma. I want to get to New York before he dies."

Beaufort nodded as though he understood. "Of course. Always the good daughter. Naturally, you want to take your brothers with you."

With nothing to say to that, she stared back at him.

"You have been an asset to our little group, Miss Ashfield," he said. "If you want to break from my employ, you can tell me."

"I think I have no other choice," she replied innocently.

"Then may I ask a favor of you?"

She spread apart her hands to show she'd take it into consideration.

"When you go to petition for your own passage, would you be so kind to do so as well for the Orion Society, of which Mr. Denham is naturally a part?"

So that was it. He'd let Laura go, except that he needed one more thing from her. Even he knew that, of all the people in the group, John would trust only Laura. The captain of the Venture might ultimately turn down passengers, but John could at least vouch that they could pay and would cause no problems. That he wasn't sending Denham to do it suggested that the Kong incident was not something the Venture's crew would want to repeat.

For the first time that evening, she smiled – a trusting, open smile that betrayed none of the animosity she felt toward Beaufort and the Society. Let him go on thinking she suspected nothing. With any luck, in less than two months, she'd never have to think about the Society again.

"It would be my pleasure, Mr. Beaufort," she said. "I will be properly compensated for my time and effort, yes?"

Beaufort's smile tightened his face and hid his teeth. "Of course."

"Did Robert tell you the ship's destination?"

"A Californian port. It suits our purposes. Denham and I plan on finishing the serial in Hollywood."

Laura pretended to believe what she already knew was a lie. "Then you don't need us anyway, do you?"

"Well, there's still work to be done, but I'm sure we can find handlers to take care of that. All we need from you now is to arrange transportation with John and the Venture's captain. Whatever price they give you, double it. Do whatever it takes to get us on board." He retrieved his cigar and leaned back in his chair. "I'm sure you can be quite persuasive."

Son of a bitch, she thought without losing her artificial smile. I'll bankrupt you to get on that ship if I have to.

As she said goodnight to the men, she remembered what Denham had said about specific requirements. Beaufort thought the Venture met his needs; she couldn't help but wonder why.