Page 65 of The Seaside Homecoming
The woman’s eyes glittered with resentment. Then she said, “Very well.”
Mr. Hammond took a deep breath and forced a light tone Claire doubted he felt.
“I had better go down to the kitchen,” he said, probably hoping to extricate himself from the tension in the room. “Mira is helping Mrs. Ballard make sugar biscuits, and I promised to rescue her in half an hour.” He grinned. “Rescue Mrs. Ballard, that is.”
When both women looked flatly back at him, his grin faded, and he turned and exited in silence.
After Mr. Hammond left, Claire expected Miss Patel to stomp out after him, or to sullenly return to Mira. Claire was tempted to suggest the latter so she might enjoy a little peace. Instead, Miss Patel lingered.
“Perhaps you think I overstep. But I am more than a servant to this family. I don’t like Mr. Hammond to forget it. Or for you to treat me as beneath you.”
“I hope I don’t. It was never my intention.”
“I was with Vanita’s household for many years. After her mother’s death, I became her maid and confidant. We were not of the same caste, yet we became friends. When she and her father made plans to leave India, she asked me to travel with them as her companion and lady’s maid, to stay with her always. I agreed.”
That’s loyalty, Claire thought, wondering if she had misjudged the woman. Or had Sonali been like Mary, desperate to leave a difficult situation?
Claire said, “That was quite a sacrifice on your part.”
Sonali shook her head. “My own family was not ... Our home was not a happy one. My father was cruel to my mother. My brothers cruel to me, the mere girl they saw as their slave. So while I was sorry to leave myamma, I was relieved to go.”
She reached out and ran a finger over the sewing box. “I was with Vanita when she met Mr. Hammond. Stood with her as bridesmaid when she married him. Held her hand when her father died. Assisted the midwife when Mira was born. I was there in Turkey when the plague struck. Cared for Mira in another part of the embassy to keep her safe. So I was not at Vanita’s bedside when she and her baby died. That I regret. I should have been there for my friend who was like a sister. Mydidi.
“Mr. Hammond asked me to stay with them even after Vanita died. To help with Mira. I did so. For I love Mira and ... admire him. And when he decided at long last to honor his promise to bring the family to England, I thought I would become a member of that family too.”
Claire stared at her dumbly, the pronouncement striking her like a blow to the stomach.
Sonali shook her head. “But no. Even now more than a year has passed, Mr. Hammond keeps me at arm’s length, becomes, if anything, more distant.
“I see how he looks at you.” She pressed a trembling hand to her chest. “I have already lost Vanita. Now I shall lose him and Mira as well—be cast aside and treated as a mere servant once again.”
At the woman’s confession, vinegary unease pooled in Claire’s mouth. She choked it down. “I am sorry. That must be quite disappointing.”
Did Mr. Hammond look at her with admiration? Claire decided it would be wiser to focus on the other things the woman had said. “If it helps, I think he does esteem you as a ... family friend. I know he appreciates all you do for Mira. When I first arrived, he made it clear I need not concern myself with his daughter, for she was already well cared for.”
“That is something, I suppose. Though not enough.” At that, Miss Patel turned and swept from the room.
Claire sat back and expelled a long breath of relief.
After luncheon the next day, Claire sat across the desk from Mr. Hammond as the two went over a list of needed repairs and other maintenance items for the house.
Mira drew at the cleared table while Sonali sat nearby, embroidering a headscarf.
Someone knocked, and Mr. Hammond rose to answer before Claire could do so. A moment later, he returned with Armaan Sagar, come again to visit his niece. Mira rose to greet him.
He brought her a small parcel of lemon drops like those she had lost on the street upon their first meeting.
“Thank you,Mamu.”
He looked to the papers, pencils, and few pieces of colored chalk at her place at the table.
“Did you draw these?” he asked, walking closer to peruse the childish pictures.
Mira followed. “Yes! This is me and Dolly. And this is me andAmma. I tried to draw her face, but it’s too hard for me. And this one is all of us: you, me, Papa, Miss Summers, and Sonali.”
“Well done. And this one is me?”
He pointed to a tall black stick figure.
