Chapter 28 Kitty
The art of pleasing is the art of deception.
LUC DE CLAPIERS, MARQUIS DE VAUVENARGUES
The dining room was a study in contrasts.
Imposing, it reminded me of the drawing rooms of England, but the details were undeniably foreign.
The walls were painted a deep ochre, with teakwood panels gleaming in the light of brass oil lamps.
The long mahogany table stretched endlessly, its surface reflecting the glow of crystal decanters and silver candelabras.
The air was thick with tantalizing aromas—cardamom, turmeric, cloves—all mingling with the buttery richness of ghee.
Sebastian pointed out each dish as he sat beside me.
My stomach, unsettled by months of travel and stale ship fare, fluttered at the scents of roasted meats and fragrant biryanis.
Trays of chutneys—mint, tamarind, and a fiery red chili paste—lined the sideboard beside bowls of steaming rice and flatbreads wrapped in linen.
Though only family dined that evening, the staff moved with practiced ease, their soft steps and the clink of dishes a counterpoint to the low murmur of conversation.
One boy, no older than fourteen, approached with a jug of water, his eyes fixed firmly downward as he poured. Something about his solemnity tugged at me, an unspoken story written in his guarded expression.
I couldn’t stop watching them, the servants—Indian men and boys who looked like my mother’s people, like me. They reminded me of a part of myself I had carefully hidden, a part I was now surrounded by, but felt strangely separate from. Their presence unsettled me in ways I hadn’t expected.
The table buzzed with conversation, most of it in clipped English tones, though I caught the occasional unfamiliar word murmured between the servants. Dismayed, I tried to remember my Urdu and failed.
Lord Sinclair sat at the head of the table, giving no indication of the conversation he’d held with Sebastian behind private doors. Nor had I a single moment alone with my husband to inquire how his grandfather received the news.
Beside me, Sebastian seemed at ease, though I caught the occasional flicker of tension in his jaw.
Seated next to Lord Sinclair was Sebastian’s youngest brother.
He was handsome in the way the Sinclairs all seemed to be, with high cheekbones and intense eyes.
But where Sebastian’s charm was easy and infectious, Julien’s demeanor appeared sullen and heavy, like a storm cloud waiting to burst. When Lord Sinclair introduced us before the meal, Julien gave me the briefest nod before directing his attention to his wine.
“Younger brothers are notoriously difficult,” Sebastian murmured in my ear after Julien’s slight.
“Is that what you call it?” I whispered back. “He hasn’t said a word to me.”
“He’s made his feelings clear enough without speaking,” Sebastian replied, his smile strained. “He’s quite put out with my return.”
I wanted to ask more, but with Julien so near I thought it best to wait until we were alone. Why did he resent his older brother?
Across from me, a young woman with a pile of auburn hair and dressed in lavender picked at her food. Hugh’s widow, Charlotte Sinclair, I had been told.
Dinner was a sensory feast, each dish more vibrant and flavorful than the last. But as the courses went on, I found my appetite waning.
The weight of the house pressed down on me—the tension in the air, the subtle glances between family members, and the dissonance between the grandeur of the meal and the unseen Indian hands that had prepared it under British command.
Toward the end of dinner, Charlotte leaned toward me, her fine-boned hands fidgeting with her napkin. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke. “Did Sebastian tell you about my husband, his older brother, Hugh?”
I turned to her, startled by the boldness of the question. “Somewhat,” I admitted. “I am sorry for your loss.”
She glanced toward Lord Sinclair, who was engaged in conversation at the other end of the table, then back at me. “Calcutta has its risks, particularly in Lord Sinclair’s line of work. Unfortunately, my husband found himself cornered and robbed at one of the Sinclair warehouses.”
She went on. “I confess I know nothing of that day. I try not to get involved in the family business. It’s unseemly for women to do so, don’t you think?”
“I haven’t had the opportunity to conduct business,” I answered.
“Oh? Have you no hobbies to occupy your days?”
“Astronomy. I prefer to study the stars, thanks to my childhood in the Hyderabad palace.”
Her eyebrows arched, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she knew anything about me or my family in India.
“Have you been to the nizam’s court, Mrs. Sinclair?” I asked.
She dabbed at her mouth with a handkerchief. “No, I have not. What is your maiden name?”
What did I say to such a question? I had wrestled with it, hidden it throughout my childhood. Did I dare reveal it now?
“Noor-un-Nissa Sahib Begum,” I said. “But I am otherwise known as Katherine Grenville, daughter of James Grenville and the princess Khair-un-Nissa Begum.”
The table grew silent. And the servants stared, including one particular young woman, who stumbled as she set the pitcher on the table and sloshed water over the side.
“I should like to find my mother,” I added as I faced Charlotte. Dared I hope to find answers with the Sinclair family? The weight of my words seemed to settle heavily in the room.
There was a brief, unsettling silence, and the servants, who had been moving quietly, remained paused.
I had not intended to reveal so much, but something about the gravity of the question seemed to demand an answer.
My heart beat painfully—this was more than I had ever shared with anyone outside my family, more than I’d ever intended to say aloud.
“I need to know what became of her and my father,” I continued, my words a little steadier.
Lord Sinclair set down his wineglass with a heavy clunk. Even Julien pierced me with a strange look.
Lord Sinclair frowned. “Diphtheria passed through the palace. It is well-documented.”
“Not entirely. A representative from the East India Company said my father experienced hallucinations in his letter to my grandfather,” I challenged. “Perhaps there was foul play.”
Charlotte’s lips tightened into a thin line, her gaze flicking toward Sebastian. “Truly astounding. Are you implying that your father was murdered?”
“Good heavens, Charlotte.” Lord Sinclair laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t be so dramatic. Katherine, you must forgive my granddaughter-in-law. She reads far too many novels in her spare time, and I suspect they’ve colored her view of the world.”
Sebastian placed his hand on my knee, and I found it rather comforting.
Lord Sinclair picked up his spoon to sample the pudding in front of him.
“I received the court reports as well, but you understand that when James Grenville married your mother, he turned on his interests with England and the Company. It is only natural to assume he had enemies, particularly in a Muslim court ruling over a large Hindu population. And that doesn’t even take into account the threat of the French, who constantly sent in their men to sway others to their side and steer territories to their control.
“Unfortunately, Sikander Jah, nizam of Hyderabad, was not pleased to have his dear daughter given in marriage to an English gentleman. Word had it she saw your father during a diplomatic meeting and demanded immediate introductions. Passionate love matches blind even the cleverest of men. Yes, your father had adversaries. Plenty of them. If you assume murder, you will not easily find the culprit in India.”
I did not care for the keen manner in which Julien stared at me while his grandfather spoke—as if I were a dish to be devoured. Nor did I care for Lord Sinclair’s inappropriate remarks regarding my parents.
“Didn’t your father adopt the Mughal dress and religion?” Julien probed with a sneer.
I did not know much about my father’s religious beliefs, for my grandfather prized none and refused to speak to any of us about it in private.
“I remember him in court dress,” I said. Somehow, I saw my father as similar to my grandfather, choosing only himself to act as a guide.
“My, the pearls in that court—as large as my pinkie,” Charlotte offered. “Did you know it is also known as the city of pearls? A shame so much wealth is kept for the . . .” She stopped as if realizing her covetousness was on full display.
Nausea returned. Would Sebastian not step in and admonish his family? He remained silent. Listening. The muscle jumping in his jaw.
He had mentioned working with William Carey in a humble cottage and his care for the people of India, but the Sinclairs spoke of India as though it were a jewel to be plucked. I wondered if they realized that every gleaming facet had been chipped from someone’s life.
“I should like to see Hyderabad again,” I said. “And if possible, locate my mother.”
Lord Sinclair paused, his glass hovering in the air, then he set it down with a clink.
“The court’s dealings are not so easily navigated these days, and I daresay whatever enemies your father had may extend to you.
” He paused, eyes flicking to Sebastian, then back at me.
“Perhaps when you’ve settled in a bit, we can discuss it further. ”
An acidic taste flooded my mouth. I had poked and prodded my grandfather, particularly when he became blustery, but Lord Sinclair’s smile, his cool politeness, threw me into confusion.
Sebastian removed his hand from my knee, and the sudden absence of warmth left me colder than before.
His gesture was perhaps not as subtle as he might have assumed, for Lord Sinclair had a twinkle in his eyes as he raised his glass in a toast.
“Enough talk of the past. My dear Katherine and Sebastian, you must focus on what is truly important. Bringing the next heir into the family. It’s a shame Charlotte only had a daughter.”
Charlotte wilted, her head drooping.