Free Monsoon Mists by Christina Courtenay Page A

lack of wits.
    ‘Because she has a good head on her shoulders. You’d do well to try and emulate her, instead of falling for every trick the merchants try on you. Use your brain, boy!’
    William didn’t believe he was that bad at trading, he’d just been a bit unfortunate. Whereas she – the hateful conniving little bitch – had the devil’s own luck. Well, no more. Her former husband was gone and William had to put a stop to this.
    Zar was a thorn in his side in more ways than one. He’d noticed some of the merchants preferred to trade with her. He wasn’t blind. But by using her womanly wiles to make better deals she made William seem like a fool and that wasn’t something he could stomach.
    His father’s will had stipulated that if she married within two years of his death, her new husband would only gain a quarter of the business, even though at present Zar was the owner of half. William didn’t know how the legalities of that worked. All he knew was that unless he wanted to lose more of his birthright than necessary, he needed to get her married off soon, whether she wanted to or not.
    She’d refused every proposal so far, but William was sure there must be a way of forcing her hand. He just had to find it and then he’d be rid of her.
    Jamie visited as many gem dealers as he could find and managed to slip the secret question into the conversation each time.
    ‘I wonder if the monsoon will bring mists this year?’
    But no one gave the required reply. They merely looked puzzled. At first he thought perhaps it was his pronunciation that was the problem or the fact that not all the merchants spoke Hindi. He then tried using rudimentary Portuguese, as did most traders along India’s coasts, but still had no luck. So he went back, bringing his new servant to use as a translator, but even repeating the words in Gujarati seemed not to have any effect.
    During a convivial dinner with Andrew, he mentioned the fact that he’d been to see a lot of local merchants. ‘They didn’t really have anything of interest to me, though,’ he added. ‘And I don’t think they were in the market to buy the sort of stones I’ve brought. They’re more suited to Europeans, so I’ll take them back to Bombay or Madras.’
    ‘What about the foreign merchants here?’ Andrew suggested. ‘There are a couple of Dutch ones I know of, and Miller, of course. They trade with the Persians and also send goods home to Europe.’
    ‘Miller?’ Jamie’s ears pricked up at the mention of this name.
    ‘Oh, yes, didn’t I say? The widow has a stepson who deals in most things – cloth, indigo, even gems – in partnership with her.’ Andrew grinned and took a large sip of wine. ‘Now there’s a tale …’
    ‘All right, out with it.’ Jamie smiled back. ‘I can tell you’re dying to recount the story of the “Ice Widow”, am I right?’
    ‘Absolutely. I’m surprised you didn’t ask me more the other night.’
    Jamie didn’t tell his friend he hadn’t been interested at the time, having been so rudely dismissed by her, but now his curiosity was piqued. ‘Go on then.’
    ‘Well, as I’m sure you probably noticed, she’s of mixed parentage. Her father was an Englishman, Thomas Evans, who married a Parsee woman. A pretty piece, by all accounts, so who can blame him? Evans was employed here at the Factory for a time, but like many others, he was given his marching orders for misusing company funds.’
    ‘Really? Mrs Miller’s father was a thief?’
    But Andrew waved a hand airily. ‘Technically, yes, but it happens all the time. The pay is so bad, you see, a lot of people here “borrow” some money from the company coffers and indulge in a little trading on the side, as it were. Most make a decent profit and pay back the “loan”, only Evans wasn’t very good at it so he was caught. He actually took the decision to leave before he was officially dismissed, and set up his own private business.’
    ‘I see. And