Sankara Bora lived in a detached house in a fashionable part of London, exactly opposite from where Adam had thought he would live. Evidently, being the secretary to the Duke of Marsley had been a profitable venture.
“Sankara married after George died,” Suzanne said, almost as if she’d heard his thoughts. “She is the daughter of a prince, I’m told.”
There had been stranger pairings. That of a War Office operative and a duchess, for example.
The double bay windows looked like eyes staring at them. The black wrought iron fence contained two green squares intersected by a pathway leading to a red painted front door. He had the impression, as they walked up to the house, that they were being watched. It could just be that his senses were on high alert and he was seeing enemies where there were none. After the events of the past weeks, he could be excused for eyeing the world around him somewhat skeptically.
He used the brass knocker in the shape of a lotus blossom and waited.
“I don’t have my reticule,” Suzanne said. “Or my calling cards.”
He wasn’t familiar with the niceties of society, so he couldn’t offer any suggestions. Surely you could call on someone without announcing yourself? Whether or not it was proper, it was what they were going to have to do.
The door was opened by a young maid in a black uniform with a spotless white apron. He shouldn’t have been surprised by the fact that she was Indian. No doubt the rest of Sankara’s staff was of his nationality. In the same fashion, English servants had been highly desired by English families in India.
“I should very much like to see Mr. Bora, if he’s available,” Suzanne said, before he could speak. “If you would, please, tell him that the Duchess of Marsley is calling.”
The young girl’s eyes widened, she hurriedly curtsied, and she stepped aside for them to enter the house.
Being with a duchess could be helpful.
They were led into a formal parlor, one that could rival Marsley House for the richness of its decor. The room was crowded with furniture, all of it overstuffed, fringed, and dark brown in color. Even the draperies hanging at the bay window were brown. Adam immediately felt as if he was entombed in a trench. Even the air smelled dusty, but that was no doubt from the collection of stuffed birds in their glass domes. Six ferns hung in front of the window, further darkening the space.
He preferred the congestion of the London streets to this room.
After Suzanne sat at the end of one of the uncomfortable-looking sofas he took up a position in one of the wing chairs opposite. Neither he nor Suzanne said a word. Even conversation was choked to death in this parlor.
Thankfully, they didn’t have long to wait until the duke’s secretary made his appearance.
Sankara Bora was a tall, stick figure of a man, with an elongated neck and a prominent Adam’s apple. His hawk-like nose looked as if it had been stretched to match the length of his face. His large mouth, now smiling, was his only softening feature. Even his brown eyes were hard, like clods of earth in a drought.
“Sankara,” Suzanne said, smiling. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“On the contrary, Your Grace. Thank you for coming to see me. I have few visitors these days and none who bring me memories of happier times.”
“I would like you to meet a friend of mine. Adam is from the War Office, and he has some questions about George.”
Her words surprised him, but they shouldn’t have. She wouldn’t have continued with his masquerade, although he wasn’t quite ready to give it up. They needed Sankara, however, and perhaps the best way to approach him was with directness and honesty.
The two men sat in the matching wing chairs opposite Suzanne.
“You are the majordomo at Marsley House,” Sankara finally said. “Or you have pretended to be.”
Again, Adam shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was.
“You have friends on the staff,” he said.
Sankara nodded. “I bring Mrs. Thigpen some spices for her cook from time to time as well.”
He couldn’t remember having seen such a distinctive man before. When he said as much, Sankara smiled once more.
“I have found that it is better to be unnoticed than it is to be singled out.”
The secretary struck him as the type of man who would avoid a direct answer and use words as a wall. Therefore, Adam used a frontal attack.
“I was the majordomo,” he said. “I was placed there by people who believed that the Duke of Marsley acted contrary to England’s interests when he was in India. Do you have any knowledge of that?”
“You have come here to prove that the duke has done such a thing?” Sankara asked, looking at Suzanne.
“On the contrary,” she said. “I’ve come to have you help me prove George was not a traitor.”
They were silenced by the arrival of a maid carrying a heavily laden tray. Adam wanted answers, not tea, but he buried his impatience after Suzanne’s quick look. Refusing Sankara’s offer of refreshments would be an insult.
There were more rules on how to treat people socially than all the regulations in the army.
After Suzanne had been served, he accepted the cup of tea as well as two sugary biscuits. They would have to suffice for breakfast and maybe lunch if he couldn’t speed this meeting along.
For a few minutes, Suzanne and Sankara discussed matters of mutual interest: the cook’s new curry recipe, Mrs. Thigpen’s interest in the stable master at Fairhaven, the contents of the kitchen garden. Adam ate another two biscuits, drank the tea that smelled and tasted of citrus and cinnamon, and listened to them talk.
Finally, during a lull in their conversation, he turned to the former secretary. “I believe that the duke gave information to the rebels about Manipora,” he said. If he didn’t get to the heart of the matter, they would be here all day, being polite and oh, so proper.
“Who has given you this information?” Sankara asked.
He was violating all sorts of rules and had, ever since yesterday. But seeing Hackney in Roger’s office had also alerted him that he might have gotten everything wrong.
“An undersecretary at the War Office,” he said. “His name is Roger Mount. He says that the Duke was a traitor and the information is in a journal that the duke kept.”
Sankara didn’t say anything for a long moment. “You have looked for this journal?”
Adam nodded. He decided to tell the other man the truth. “I’m not the only one,” he said. “I believe there’s another operative at Marsley House, someone who injured the duchess the other night.”
He sent a quick glance to Suzanne, hoping she understood why he hadn’t mentioned his suspicions to her earlier.
She gave him a look that made him certain they were going to discuss this omission later.
“I have seen his journals,” Sankara said. “Before the duke’s death, he required me to write in them.” He gave Suzanne an apologetic look. “Forgive me, Your Grace, for speaking of such personal things, but the duke was not well.”
“In what way?” Suzanne asked, sounding surprised. “He never mentioned his ill health to me, Sankara.”
“This I can understand,” the secretary said. “His Grace was a proud man, but his vision was not what it had been. He was finding it difficult to read.”
Adam exchanged a glance with Sankara. If the duke had been as much of a lecher as he’d written about for years, it was entirely possible he had been suffering from the end stages of syphilis. Adam knew the signs only because some men in his regiment had been unwise in their choice of partners.
“An aadmi came to see the duke not long before his death.”
“I don’t know what that means, Sankara,” Suzanne said.
“A man,” Adam translated.
“You speak Hindi?” Sankara asked.
He nodded. “I lived in India for a number of years. It’s a fascinating country.”
“That it is. Almost as intriguing as your England. And Scotland, if I do not mistake your accent.”
Adam inclined his head.
“You say a man,” Adam said. “Who was he?”
“A soldier. One from a native regiment that reported to His Grace.”
A Sepoy, in other words. Nearly eighty percent of the Sepoys had participated in the rebellion of 1857. Those who hadn’t had proved invaluable to understanding what had started the open resistance to British rule.
Had the one who’d visited the duke also come bearing information?
Sankara was a man comfortable with formalities. Being direct with him hadn’t helped. Adam had a feeling they would continue to circle the issue until the man felt more at ease. Either that, or he needed something to cut through to Sankara, some knowledge that would jolt the man. It was entirely possible that the secretary had been privy to the duke’s secrets. Whether he would reveal any of them was the question.
“I lost my wife at Manipora,” Adam said. It was a story he didn’t often tell, yet here he was divulging it again.
The secretary looked at him, his eyes intent.
“You have my deepest condolences, Mr. Drummond. Is it vengeance you seek?”
“In a sense,” Adam said, giving the other man the truth. “I want the person who betrayed us punished.”
“Vengeance does not restore our loved ones to us, however.”
“No, it doesn’t. But perhaps it allows those of us left behind a little peace, knowing that justice has been served.”
Sankara contemplated the contents of his teacup. Adam bit back his irritation.
“I can understand why you would want to protect his memory, Sankara,” Suzanne said. “Especially if he was guilty of such a terrible deed. But if he was not, if he is innocent, will you help me prove that?”
“Silence is a shroud we should wrap around our heroes,” Sankara said.
Adam could feel his temper ratchet up a few notches. Hero? What the hell had the Duke of Marsley ever done to deserve that label?
“Not if it conceals the truth,” Suzanne said. “What is the truth, Sankara?”
He lifted his eyes and exchanged a glance with Suzanne. “You do not know what you are asking me, Your Grace. I was the duke’s faithful servant. I was his confidant, if you wish.”
“I don’t care about his women, Sankara. If you think to keep that knowledge from me, then you’re too late. I know and I’ve always known.”
“And I don’t care about his personal life,” Adam said. “All I care about is whether he betrayed us. Did he?”
He and Sankara exchanged a long look.
“If I give you proof of his innocence, will you use it to ensure His Grace isn’t portrayed as a traitor?”
“If it’s really proof,” Adam said.
The secretary abruptly stood and left the room. He and Suzanne glanced at each other. What proof was Sankara going to bring them?