"What is it? What's the matter?" I ask.
The men are suddenly gone. They've disappeared into the moving crowd, leaving only their footprints in the dust. "What did that man say to you?"
My mothers voice is edged in steel. "It's nothing. He was obviously deranged. The streets are not safe these days." I have never heard my mother sound this way. So hard. So afraid. "Gemma, I think it's best if I go to Mrs. Talbot's alone."
"Butbut what about the cake?" It's a ridiculous thing to say, but it's my birthday and while I don't want to spend it in Mrs. Talbot's sitting room, I certainly don't want to waste the day alone at home, all because some black-cloaked madman and his cohort have spooked my mother.
Mother pulls her shawl tightly about her shoulders. "We'll have cake later"
"But you promised"
"Yes, well, that was before" She trails off.
"Before what?"
"Before you vexed me so! Really Gemma, you are in no humor for a visit today. Sarita will see you back."
"I'm in a fine humor," I protest, sounding anything but.
"No, you are not!" Mother's green eyes find mine. There is something there I've never seen before. A vast and terrifying anger that stops my breath. Quick as it comes on her, it's gone and she is Mother again. "You're overtired and need some rest. Tonight, we'll celebrate and I'll let you drink some champagne." I'll let you drink some champagne . It's not a promiseit's an excuse to get rid of me. There was a time when we did everything together, and now, we can't even walk through the bazaar without sniping at each other. I am an embarrassment and. a disappointment. A daughter she does not want to take anywhere, not London or even the home of an old crone who makes weak tea.
The train's whistle shrieks again, making her jump.
"Here, I'll let you wear my necklace, hmmm? Go on, wear it. I know you've always admired it."
I stand, mute, allowing her to adorn me in a necklace I have indeed always wanted, but now it weighs me down, a shiny, hateful thing. A bribe. Mother gives another quick glance to the dusty marketplace before letting her green eyes settle on mine.
"There. You look all grown up." She presses her gloved hand to my cheek, holds it there as if to memorize it with her fingers. "I'll see you at home."
I don't want anyone to notice the tears that are pooling in my eyes, so I try to think of the wickedest thing I can say and then it's on my lips as I bolt from the marketplace.
"I don't care if you come home at all."
CHAPTER TWO
I'm running away through throngs of vendors and beggar children and foul-smelling camels, narrowly missing two men carrying saris that hang from a piece of rope attached to two poles at either end. I dart off down a narrow side street, following the twisting, turning alleys till I have to stop and catch my breath. Hot tears spill down my cheeks. I let myself cry now that there is no one around to see me.
God save me from a woman's tears, for I've no strength against them . That's what my father would say if he were here now. My father with his twinkling eyes and bushy mustache, his booming laugh when I please him and far-off gazeas if I don't existwhen I've been less than a lady. I can't imagine he'll be terribly happy when he hears how I've behaved. Saying nasty things and storming off isn't the sort of behavior that's likely to win a girl's case for going to London. My stomach aches at the thought of it all. What was I thinking?
There's nothing to do but swallow my pride, make my way back and apologize. If I can find my way back. Nothing looks at all familiar to me. Two old men sit cross-legged on the ground, smoking small, brown cigarettes. They watch me as I pass. I realize that I am alone in the city for the first time. No chaperone. No entourage. A lady unescorted. It's very scandalous of me. My heart beats faster and I quicken my pace.
The air has grown very still. A storm isn't far off. In the distance, I can hear frantic activity in the marketplace, last-minute bargains being struck before everything is closed down for the afternoon shower. I follow the sound and end up where I started. The old men smile at me, an English girl lost and alone on Bombay's streets. I could ask them for directions back to the marketplace, though my Hindi isn't nearly as good as Father's and for all I know Where is the marketplace may come out as I covet your neighbor's fine cow . Still, it's worth a try.
"Pardon me," I ask the elder man, the one with a white beard. "I seem to be lost. Could you tell me which way to the marketplace?"