Veils of Silk(11)

Ian had discarded his uniform along with his commission and wasn't yet accustomed to identifying himself as Lord Falkirk, so he said tersely, "My name's Ian Cameron, and I'm looking for Kenneth Stephenson. Is he here now?"

McKittrick led the way inside. "Sorry, but he's touring the eastern part of the district. Won't be back for weeks."

So the hunt wasn't over yet. "My business is actually with his stepdaughter, Larissa, or perhaps she's called Lara," Ian said. "Do you know if she's with him?"

McKittrick's brows drew together. "Lara? He has a daughter, Laura. I suppose she could be his stepdaughter, though neither of them ever said as much. Yes, she's with him."

Ian asked, "Can you give me a map of the district, and Stephenson's schedule of stops?"

"Of course." McKittrick gave an order to a native clerk, then turned back to Ian. "It's getting late in the day. Will you do my wife and me the honor of spending the night with us?"

India was sometimes called the land of the open door because of the unfailing hospitality that a Briton met wherever he went. However, though Ian had regained enough control to present a fairly normal face to the world, doing so was difficult, and he didn't feel up to being civil to a table full of strangers. "Sorry, I won't be stopping. I need to find the Stephensons as soon as possible, and there are a couple of hours of daylight left."

The judge's face fell. "A pity. My wife will be disappointed. It isn't often we see a new face in Baipur."

Ian felt a twinge of guilt. A small station like this would have only four or five British officials and a few other family members, so if Ian stayed, his visit would be the social high point of the month.

But guilt was not enough to change his mind. He said vaguely, "If I come back this way, I'll gladly take you up on your offer, but today I really must continue on."

McKittrick asked no more questions, and within fifteen minutes Ian was on his way again. That night he camped in the countryside, as he had every night since leaving Cambay. If Stephenson was holding to his schedule, Ian should find him within a day or so. Then Ian could present the Bible to Lara, give the necessary explanations, and be off the next morning.

He knew that there was no real need for haste, but once he had decided to return to Scotland, he had become feverishly impatient to be on his way. With insight that he would not have had before his imprisonment, he recognized that he had replaced his obsession with Georgina with a fixation about going home. Not the healthiest state of mind, he thought with black humor, but at least obsession helped him maintain his grasp on sanity.

* * *

When they reached the fork in the dusty road, Laura reined in her horse. "I'll turn here, Father. If I go into the village with you, I'll get caught up in the official welcome, and it will be hours before I can get away.''

Kenneth Stephenson halted his own mount. "You aren't needed to help set up camp. The servants will do a fine job."

"True," she admitted, "but supervising their work gives me a good excuse to avoid sitting through all the flowery speeches, which will inevitably be followed by recitations of all the grievances that have accumulated over the last year.''

He grinned. "It will take at least three days to deal with all of the questions about whose buffalo wandered into whose field, and whose head got broken over it."

"But you'll settle them all to everyone's satisfaction." Laura's brows drew together as she studied her stepfather's face. Under the shadow of his topi, his skin was pale and his expression drawn. "Don't stay too long. You look tired."

"A little," he admitted. "I'll come back early and take a nap before dinner." He made a clucking noise to his horse and turned down the right-hand path.

Laura took the left fork, which led to the campsite. When her father finished in Nanda, they would head north, then work their way west again. Progress was leisurely, for touring was a vital part of a district officer's responsibilities. While in theory a collector like Kenneth was primarily concerned with land taxation, in practice he was also magistrate, engineer, and even physician to the people of his district. Most of all, he was the physical expression of the Sirkar, the British government.

The campsite was in a forest clearing, and the towering trees that surrounded it gave welcome shade. All was in order, with bullock carts unpacked, a dozen tents erected, and a cooking fire lit. On the far right side of the clearing, the tethered pack animals grazed peacefully on the lush grass.

After dismounting and handing her horse over to a groom, Laura entered her tent. Camping was an odd mixture of discomfort and luxury, and she was always amused to see framed watercolors of Britain hanging on the canvas walls, and to feel her feet sink into a thick Indian carpet.