THE WARLORD'S DAUGHTER
CHAPTER 7
When Melisande had returned from the bazaar earlier that day, she had met Henri a short time later in the guesthouse. He had insisted they discuss nothing troubling and instead enjoy each other's company for the short time available. And Henri's lovemaking certainly made thinking of anything else impossible, something in this instance that both pleased and disconcerted Melisande, considering all that was facing them in the days ahead.
When she had returned to the palace, her mother caught up with her in the hallway near Melisande's suite. Maysam drew her to the side, anxiously glancing up and down the empty hallway.
"Did you discuss the situation with him?" Maysam asked, near a whisper.
"Yes." Melisande frowned at the thought of having to lie again to her mother.
"And what did he say?"
"He…he said he understands how the…contract changes things."
"Did he agree to the divorce, or must I speak with him about it directly?"
"He argued with me about it. I told him I don't want it any more than he does, but I told him you were insisting on it, and that if he doesn't agree, you will force his hand by seeing him dismissed."
Maysam studied her, making Melisande fear that she was unconvinced. Melisande did her best to hide her anxiety.
"You will not do anything brash, will you, daughter? You won't run off with him? You promise me?"
Melisande forced a smile and kissed her mother's cheek. "I promise."
But as she headed to her suite, Melisande knew she would indeed flee with Henri if she could ever get him to agree. She dreaded what he might do to negate someone else marrying her, yet what choice did she have but to leave it in his hands? The thought of divorcing him and marrying another was more repugnant to contemplate than what Henri might do to preserve their union.
When Melisande entered her suite, she heard the shower running. Lakshmi, coming out of the bathroom, bowed and said, "I have started the shower for you, sahiba, and laid out a change of clothes."
"Thank you, Lakshmi." To make an excuse for her flushed complexion and slight dishevelment from her time with Henri, she added, "It is so very hot today."
Since the start of Melisande's practice of meeting Henri in the guesthouse, she would come back to the palace afterwards to shower or to relax in the Romanesque spa located between her suite and that of her parents. Lakshmi, ever vigilant of her mistress's needs, had noted her pattern of behavior long ago and was always prepared for her return from the guesthouse. Melisande often caught sight of her at one of the windows, looking out for her return. Melisande wondered if the servant had ever noticed Henri coming and going from the guesthouse. He was usually careful to leave from the side of the guesthouse that faced away from the palace.
For the rest of the day, Melisande's thoughts often returned to Diya Panjabi. It troubled her to imagine Henri having sex with Diya, though she knew she had no right to, considering that the dalliance with Diya had occurred before she had Henri were married. During their rendezvous just now, she had almost asked Henri to compare them, to force him to speak of his intimate moments with Diya in the hopes of reading between the lines of whatever he might say. Then she scolded herself for having any doubts over what he had already told her about his relationship with Diya. They would never lie to one another, and if she had voiced her curiosity, he would think she was accusing him of just that. No, she could never speak to him about Diya again. He had appeared painfully remorseful when he had talked about it at the café, and she did not want to hurt him and make him feel that she would hold such a thing over his head going forward.
That evening, sitting in front of her vanity mirror with Lakshmi brushing her long hair, she thought of Diya's midnight hair, of Henri stroking it. Melisande frowned. She wished Henri had revealed the contents of Diya's letter. What had possessed the young woman to reach out to him after the relationship was over? Or had Henri not made the cessation clear to her? Perhaps if she knew what had been in the letter, she could let this go. She could go to Diya herself, without Henri knowing. Since Diya had no idea that they were married, perhaps she would open up to another woman, someone with access to Henri Ducard should she wish to pass another message on to him.
Darkness had fallen, so Melisande stepped onto her veranda to enjoy the easing of the day's heat. She leaned into her hands on the railing, breathing deep of the night smells, of the jasmine that wound itself around the pillars that flanked the palace's main entrance below her. For a moment she closed her eyes, smiled at the scent she loved so much. As a little girl, she used to have one of the servants weave a tiara of blossoms and place it upon her head before she rushed to show her mother.
When she opened her eyes, movement below caught her attention. Someone walking casually into the courtyard from the direction of the main gate. She knew from his gait and broad shoulders that it was Henri before he even came fully into the lights of the courtyard. She stepped backward into the darkness, though she was unsure why she feared being detected. Moving on silent tiptoes across the warm tiles—a needless caution since there was no way Henri could hear her bare feet from this distance—she went to the far end of the veranda to better watch him, crouching slightly.
Where was he coming from? Had he been in the village, or had he been returning from one of his regular circuits of the palace's outer perimeter for security purposes? If the former, what had his business been in the village? Diya? This was enough to convince her that she had to speak with Diya herself and get her side of the story. But if she did, would Diya then tell Henri about their conversation? He would be hurt or angry, Melisande was sure. But, as Henri passed from the courtyard below toward the side of the building and the employees' entrance, she knew she would not rest until she had the full picture.
In the morning, Melisande was relieved to hear from her father over breakfast that Henri would be gone from the palace for a couple of days on business. Though she already missed him, at least now she would not run the risk of bumping into him on her way to or from the village. And any guilt she felt for going behind his back on the matter of Diya Panjabi might lessen by the time he returned.
She waited until nearly evening to venture into the village with Dawoud as her escort. By that time, Diya was sure to be home, retired for the day and preparing her meal. Melisande knew she needed to keep the visit brief so she could be back at the palace in time for her own meal, lest her parents question her whereabouts at such an hour.
"Do you know Miss Panjabi?" Melisande asked Dawoud as they made their way through the village, people giving them a berth as wide as the narrow streets afforded.
"I know who she is, but I don't know her personally."
"My cousins gossip about her now and then, but I don't pay attention to gossip." She cast a sidelong glance at Dawoud, but he was looking around them, not at her, vigilant to their surroundings. "Do you, Mr. Dawoud?"
"Well, Miss, living downstairs among the other men and the household servants, it's impossible not to hear gossip." He shrugged. "Some I believe; some I don't. Most of it isn't important, so it doesn't really matter if I believe it or not."
"Does any of that gossip pertain to Miss Panjabi?"
He hesitated until she looked directly at him, forcing him to briefly meet her gaze. "Well," he replied uneasily, "some of the men say she's sweet on Ducard."
"Really? How interesting. Why do they say that?"
"He used to…visit her regularly. He always said it was just because she cooked for him."
"And you believed him?"
Dawoud chuckled. "He's my boss, Miss; I get paid to believe whatever Henri Ducard says."
A safe answer, she reflected, but unsatisfactory. "But you think it was more than that?"
He made a wary sound in his throat. "Not my place to say, Miss."
"Come now, Mr. Dawoud, I won't say anything to Mr. Ducard about this. I'm just curious about Miss Panjabi. She seems to lead such a lonely life."
Dawoud frowned when she looked back at him where he walked a pace behind her. "Ducard plays things close to the chest, Miss, if you get my meaning."
"But you are an observant man; what was your impression about the relationship?"
Dawoud cleared his throat in discomfort. "Well, I wouldn't blame him if he and Miss Panjabi had a relationship of sorts."
"So that was your impression?"
"If I were to lay money on it…I'd say yes."
"I see. Well, here we are." Melisande looked up at the lit window of Diya's abode. "It appears she's home."
"I should go up with you."
"Don't be silly; Miss Panjabi is no threat. Wait here for me. I won't be long."
Dawoud shifted his rifle to a more comfortable position. "Your father—"
"My father is not here, and he will never know about this visit." She pinned a meaningful stare upon him. "Will he?"
Dawoud frowned again.
Melisande headed for the nearby stairs and carefully ascended. At the door, her knock brought Diya quickly to answer. When she opened the door, she started, as if having expected someone else, eyes blinking, mouth ajar with shock.
"Good evening, Miss Panjabi."
Diya pressed her hands together in front of her and bowed. "Namaste, sahiba." Her gaze flicked past Melisande, searching.
"I apologize for showing up here uninvited, especially at this hour, but there is a matter I would like to discuss with you. It won't take long."
After an uncomfortable hesitation, Diya stepped back. "Please come in, sahiba."
Such a small space, Melisande reflected. How did Diya fit all her life, including her wares sold at the bazaar, in so tiny a place? Yet somehow the home was neat and clean. In what appeared to be the kitchen area, vegetables upon a cutting board had been abandoned because of her unexpected visitor. A reed diffuser on the coffee table gave off a pleasant scent of cinnamon. A few framed black and white photos adorned the otherwise bare walls. Family photos? Was that Diya as a young girl in a couple of them?
"May I get you some tea, sahiba?"
"No, thank you."
"Did your mother like the scarf you purchased yesterday?"
"She did. She said she will compliment you directly the next time she comes to the bazaar."
"There is no need."
Melisande sat forward on the sofa, Diya sitting in a chair across from her.
"Speaking of the bazaar, what I came here about was your effort to engage Mr. Ducard in conversation yesterday, something about a letter you had sent to him."
Diya shifted in her seat and laced her hands together in her lap. "I shouldn't have spoken up in such a public place. It was a private matter. I didn't mean to make Mr. Ducard or you uncomfortable or angry."
"You did nothing of the sort." Melisande smiled with reassurance, wanting Diya to feel at ease about opening up to her, not defensive or suspicious. "When I questioned Mr. Ducard, he insisted it was nothing I needed to concern myself with. But," now she held Diya's gaze as a co-conspirator, "I could tell you were upset. That's why I'm here. I wanted to offer my help in any way. Mr. Ducard is my father's employee, so, as his daughter, I feel responsible if Mr. Ducard has behaved in any untoward way with you. I know how callous men can be, or how downright ignorant when it comes to women's feelings."
Diya absently rubbed her thumb against her other hand and kept her gaze lowered. "The matter is nothing you should trouble yourself with."
"But I want to help. Diya?" Melisande waited for the young woman to finally look at her, then she patted the cushion next to her. "Come sit with me. Please." She offered another smile of friendship. "Don't be afraid. I won't tell Mr. Ducard that I came here. It will be a secret between us girls."
When Diya remained in her chair, growing more nervous and vulnerable by the second, Melisande again patted the cushion. Another long hesitation, then Diya finally, haltingly, crossed over to sit on the sofa, attention still on the floor. Melisande boldly took one of Diya's hands into the warmth of both of hers.
"Now," Melisande said, lowering her head slightly in an effort to see Diya's eyes, "tell me what the letter was about, so I can help you."
Diya bit her lower lip. "Mr. Ducard said I was to tell no one what was in the letter."
"Hmm, I see. Did he threaten you with physical harm?"
"Well, no, but…"
"But you're afraid of him anyway, yes? Because he is my father's employee?"
"I…yes, I suppose so."
"That's why I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you. I want to help. I can see you're in some kind of trouble. Aren't you?"
Diya's hand was cold compared to Melisande's, a surprising phenomenon, considering the stifling warmth of the room with its nearly useless, tiny, battered fan oscillating from the counter where the vegetables sat. The young woman chewed on her lip.
"You can trust me," Melisande continued, then used one finger to lift Diya's chin. Tears floated in Diya's eyes, surprising Melisande and heightening her curiosity.
"I don't want to cause any trouble for Mr. Ducard."
"You won't. I promise."
Diya stared at Melisande's hand still holding hers, as if mesmerized by another person touching her. How alone she must always feel, Melisande considered sadly. True, she often felt alone herself, but at least she had her mother, and sometimes her cousins could be tolerable as companions. She wondered what had become of Diya's own mother, and why she did not have any siblings, at least locally.
"Are you expecting your uncle soon?" Melisande asked, speculating that Diya's reticence could be because her uncle might appear at any moment.
"No, he is out of town."
"If you're afraid I'll tell him about our conversation, I won't. I promise."
Diya's free hand drifted to her abdomen in an unconscious way. As if catching herself, she quickly moved her hand down to her knee. A chill flowed through Melisande, and she suddenly understood. Disappointment and pain flooded her.
"Diya…are you…pregnant?"
The young woman tensed, and she pulled her hand from Melisande's hold. "No, sahiba, no. Excuse me, please…" She stood and hurried back to the vegetables. "I must finish making my supper. And I don't want to keep you from yours."
Melisande followed her, stopped at the edge of the small counter where Diya had taken up a knife and continued chopping carrots, eyes on her work, facial muscles tight, hands unsteady. All telltale signs that confirmed Melisande's speculation.
"So Mr. Ducard is your baby's father, I assume."
"Please, sahiba. I can't talk about this."
"That's what you wrote to him about, isn't it? That you are having his child."
The knife continued chopping, but now a couple of stray tears dropped to the bamboo cutting board, and Diya's hands trembled even more.
"What did Mr. Ducard say to you about it?" Melisande pressed. "Surely he will help you."
Diya's chin trembled as she fought away the fresh rush of tears. The knife slipped, and she gave a small gasp of pain as blood appeared on her index finger. Diya reached for a nearby rag.
"Here," Melisande said. "You must stop. You're going to cut your fingers off. It's plain how upset you are. I don't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I am here to help. You must believe me."
"But why?" Diya wrapped the rag around the wounded finger. "Why do you want to help me? You don't even know me."
"Because I feel responsible for Mr. Ducard's…indiscretion. He is my family's employee."
Melisande watched mixed emotions in Diya's eyes as the young woman used the blood-speckled rag to wipe away the tears. It was obvious Diya wanted someone to rescue her but feared what that rescue might cost.
Gently, Melisande asked, "Do you want to keep the baby?"
"To…end its life…that wouldn't be right, would it? This isn't the child's fault. I was foolish, stupid…" Diya shook her head, staring at the cutting board and the forgotten knife.
"You must not blame yourself. Mr. Ducard should never have gotten you into this situation. Let me make things right."
"But what could you possibly do, sahiba?"
"What did Mr. Ducard say when you told him about the baby?"
Diya faltered, indecision tearing at her.
"Come sit down," Melisande softly urged. "Supper can wait."
She led Diya, now as compliant as a trusting child, back to the sofa where they sat, facing one another.
"Tell me what he said," she urged again, gaze locked with Diya's, willing the truth out of her, trying to ignore the pounding of her own wounded heart.
Diya sighed softly, still holding the rag to her finger. Was she considering the fact that even if she did not want to answer, she could be forced to? She could be dragged before Henri or her father and be compelled to do whatever they demanded. Or perhaps she feared not just for the life of the child but for her own as well. Just another nuisance to the El Fadils swept aside. She really had no options.
"Does your family know about this?" Melisande asked.
"No."
"Is there anyone in your family you could go to, away from here, to have the baby?"
"If anyone finds out, they will have nothing to do with me. Because I'm not married, I mean."
"Hmm, I see." Melisande frowned; yes, she certainly understood the constraints of family expectations. "What did Mr. Ducard say when you told him about the baby?"
"He…well, he…" Diya's breaths came shorter as she fought away more tears. "He said he will pay for me to have an abortion away from here. He told me to tell no one. But now I have, and… Oh, sahiba, please don't tell him."
"Did he threaten to harm you if you don't have the abortion?"
"Well…no, not directly, but the way he talked frightened me. I never should have said anything to you."
"Nonsense; I asked you to. And now you must let me think about what we can do. Did Mr. Ducard say when he was going to send you to the doctor?"
"No, but it sounded like he would arrange it quickly."
"Is there a relative or friend you could visit, just for a few days while I figure what to do? That way, if Mr. Ducard comes back here, you will be gone."
Diya frowned as she thought. "I have an aunt, but she lives in Jaipur. I have no way to get there."
"Leave the transportation to me. Can you call her tonight and arrange it?"
"I…I can try, but what if she doesn't want me there? She will think it odd that I'm inviting myself."
"Tell her that you have to see a doctor in Jaipur, and that you will only need to stay with her a couple of days."
Diya's frown deepened. "I don't want to lie to her."
"You really should see a doctor when you're pregnant, to make sure everything is okay with you and the baby. I can set up an appointment with a family doctor we have in Jaipur. I'll make sure they can get you in straight away. Then you won't be lying to your aunt, will you?" She offered a smile of compassion.
"But then what, sahiba? My uncle will be suspicious."
"If he asks, tell him you are having some female issues. If he's like most men, simply saying that will discourage him from prying further."
Diya fidgeted with her sari. "What if I come back here, and you haven't figured out what I am to do? Mr. Ducard—"
"I will handle Mr. Ducard. He is my family's employee, and…he and I have a…close relationship…as my bodyguard, I mean, of course. He will listen to me and do what I ask him." Of course she had no idea if Henri would indeed bend to her will on this, but hopefully it would not come to involving him.
Melisande stood. "Now I'll let you get back to making your supper."
Diya also stood, following her to the door. "Thank you, sahiba."
She offered another hopeful smile. "Try not to worry. Now, call your aunt, and tell her to expect you tomorrow. I will send a car for you in the morning."