Chapter 21 Alex
Alex
Two days after Sarala’s arrival at Silverburn House, she and Savi remained inseparable.
A blanket of contentment enveloped Alex as he sat in his office. His attention had long since drifted away from the report his solicitor had sent over—confirming that the death duties had been paid, as agreed upon by Raj.
In this very room, as it happened.
Warmth filled his chest as he watched Savi talking with Sarala out in the garden, today’s newspaper on her lap. A few days ago, he would have said the weather was reminiscent of late summer, but the leaves were beginning to blush in their trees, taking on a distinctly autumnal appearance.
Alex grinned as identical smiles crossed Savi and Sarala’s faces.
He hadn’t been prepared for just how similar the two would be.
Of course, Savi bore a resemblance to Raj, but it was in appearance only.
She resembled Sarala down to her very marrow, and suddenly Savi’s fiery, independent personality ceased to be a mystery.
For most men, the prospect of one’s mother-in-law moving in overnight was akin to something out of the Grand Guignol, but Sarala treated him like a newfound son—not to mention her evident fondness for Ben.
Dragging his attention back to his desk, the next letter needing to be reviewed was rather more pertinent; the issue of whether Raj or Sarala would own the medical business.
He’d asked his solicitor to—confidentially—review the facts of the case, knowing that Sarala had expressed a firm wish to retake control of it.
Alex’s vision swept across each line and down onto the next.
“Assuming the contents of your last letter are all legally valid, they suggest that Dr Sarala Dey would possess the stronger legal claim to the company.”
He looked back out into the garden. The solicitor’s words weren’t a shock by any means, if what Sarala had told them was correct. Seeing as she wasn’t, in fact, deceased, of course her property would remain in her name, but he was relieved to know the solicitor shared his opinion.
Alex wasn’t sure how long he sat there, his gaze on his wife.
A knock on the door stole his attention.
He pulled his attention back into the room, glancing over to find MacDonald standing in the doorway. “Chief Inspector Clarkson is here to see you, my lord. He has a guest with him.”
“Show them in,” Alex responded, wondering who the mysterious guest could be.
Clarkson entered first, cutting a smart figure in his dark suit. “Lakenheath,” Clarkson nodded, glancing behind him as though to ensure the guest was still following him.
She was. A few paces behind came a pale young woman, her arms crossed over her torso and her eyes full of fear.
As always, Alex stood in the presence of a woman, nodding his head respectfully.
“This,” Clarkson began, holding out an arm in her direction, “is Miss Ophelia Bowers.”
His spine straightened in surprise. “The young lady who was held in the cellar with Dr Dey?”
Ophelia nodded.
Relief breezed out of him in a sigh. Since she’d arrived, Sarala had been sick with worry about the poor girl.
And no wonder, he thought. If one was trapped in a cellar with a single other person for three years, it was inevitable that a bond would form.
Who else would be able to understand that experience?
“MacDonald?” he called. The butler had disappeared from the doorway, but Alex knew he wouldn’t have gone far.
He appeared a few seconds later. “My lord.”
“Could you tell Dr Dey that Miss Ophelia Bowers has arrived, please?”
“Of course.”
“Sarala’s here?” Ophelia’s first words were heightened with emotion, but her East End accent shone through, telling a tale of a thoroughly working-class upbringing.
“She is.” Alex’s voice was kind. “She’s been very worried about you. Very worried, indeed.”
Ophelia’s bottom lip wobbled precariously, quickly followed by the glistening of tears in her eyes. “Oh.” She wiped them off her cheeks as they fell, giving him an uninterrupted view of her gently rounded stomach.
A painful tightening constricted his chest, knowing full well how the child would have been conceived.
“Come and sit down,” Alex said, more to Ophelia than to Clarkson.
His mind instantly fell back into the caregiving role it had acquired during Lily’s younger years.
“Would you like something to drink? Or eat, for that matter? You’re as white as a sheet. ”
Ophelia looked askance at Clarkson, as though she expected him to answer for her.
Clarkson took pity on her. “We had lunch at the Scotland Yard canteen before w—”
“Phee?” Sarala’s call muffled the second half of Clarkson’s sentence, accompanied by furious footsteps rushing along the corridor to the office.
Ophelia let out a desperate noise at the sound of her name, her expression crumpling as Sarala appeared in the doorway.
Sarala rushed across the room towards the poor girl, catching her in a ferocious hug that pulled at Alex’s heartstrings. “I thought you were dead,” Sarala gasped on a shaky breath, clutching Ophelia’s head beneath her chin and peppering it with kisses. “I thought he’d killed you.”
The choking sobs coming from Ophelia had Alex swallowing the lump in his throat. “I was at his house. The police came to get me. They took me home after questioning me but—but my parents didn’t want me back,” she cried, hyperventilating.
Pulling back far enough to look Ophelia in the eye, Sarala was fierce. “Your parents can go to the devil, but you will always have me.”
Alex looked away, catching Clarkson discreetly brushing a tear from his cheek. His gaze found Savi as she lingered in the doorway, watching her mother doting on Ophelia.
Making his way over to his wife, worry gnawed at his gut. Savi had been raised as an only child, and her bond with Sarala was as strong as steel. What would she be thinking right now? Would she be jealous?
He gathered her to his side, slipping an arm around her waist. “Are you all right?” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear.
Savi’s shoulders relaxed as she sighed, sending him a nod. “I’m so bloody relieved.” The words were half a laugh, as though jealousy had never even crossed her mind. “Ma has been beside herself about Ophelia. She’s barely slept since we arrived.”
A tender feeling spread within him, burning the worry to ash and replacing it with something entirely different—something that had been building since the day of their wedding, but now it was ready to bloom.
Alex drew her closer, no longer hearing Sarala and Ophelia’s teary conversation.
Right now, the world was reduced to him and Savi.
“I love you, Savi.” The words felt like they came from deep within his soul, passing between them as a whisper.
Her eyes flared wide, the chocolatey brown of her irises melting in the midday sun. “What’s brought this on?”
“Every day you’re more perfect than the last.” He shrugged, unable to give a coherent explanation. “It was bound to happen eventually.”
Clarkson cleared his throat, and Alex looked up to remember that they weren’t, in fact, the only two people on earth. Sarala and Ophelia appeared to have been interrupted mid-conversation, just like the two of them.
Poor Clarkson, however, shifted, reluctantly meeting Alex’s eyes. “If you’re happy for Miss Bowers to stay here—”
Alex’s nod was in time with Savi’s. “Of course.”
Clarkson went to put his flat cap on. “Then I should be off.”
“What’s happening with Dr Franklin?” Savi asked, as direct as the point of a spear. “And Raj? Have they been arrested?”
“Seymour Franklin was taken into custody several hours after my last visit.” Clarkson’s eyes were laced with reproval as they settled on Alex. “Although he did need medical attention. I believe he’s currently battling an infection in a wound on his hand.”
“Fancy that,” Alex returned, his expression deadpan.
“Mm,” Clarkson hummed, in a tone that suggested he knew exactly what had happened to Franklin’s hand.
“Nevertheless, he’s confessed to the false imprisonment of Ms Bowers and Dr Sarala Dey, with the assistance of Prithviraj Dey.
” Clarkson waved a hand over to Sarala and Ophelia.
“As for Dey himself, we’ll be paying him a visit after we’ve left here. ”
“To do what?” Savi asked sharply.
Clarkson donned his cap. “Now that we have enough evidence? We’re going to arrest him.”
Good. Alex glanced down at Savi, expecting to see the relief he felt echoed in her expression. Instead, reluctance sat there. Surely she can’t have changed her mind, after everything? His voice fell to a whisper. “What’s wrong?”
Savi gritted her teeth, visibly gathering tension in the elegant lines of her jaw. She directed a question at Clarkson. “May I ask a favour of you?”
Clarkson huffed out an exasperated breath, taking his cap off once again. “You can try.”
“It’s the weekend,” Savi began, her gaze flicking over to Sarala.
Was there a nervous twinge lurking therein?
“Raj will most likely be at home—with his children. I want him to see justice as much as anyone, but his older son, George, is old enough to understand what is happening around him. Raj deserves everything he gets, but George doesn’t. ”
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Clarkson drew in a long breath. “Would you like us to ask the boy to turn around whilst we arrest his father?”
“Let me bring him here,” Savi implored, stepping forward.
“And how will you manage that? Preferably in a timely manner.”
“I appreciate you don’t know my father, Detective Inspector Clarkson, but it wouldn’t be difficult. All I need do is telephone him to say that some high-ranking nobleman is here wanting an introduction and he’ll be charging up Constitution Hill like he’s on the home straight at Ascot.”
Clarkson mulled it over, his jaw jutting to one side before giving a weary nod. “As a favour. But if he’s not here in half an hour, I’m leaving. I have other cases to work on today.”