Lekha sat down and pressed her dark hands over the sari she wore, smoothing out the wrinkles on her lap. She looked directly at Amala as if she were equally happy to see another dark-faced woman. “In India I worked for Mr. Henry’s friend, Mr. Chit.” Amala tossed a quick smile toward Henry; she could see where this was likely heading, but she enjoyed the fact that in India Henry and his friend had chosen to be called such by their household servants. Lekha went on. “Mr. Henry had asked that when Mr. Chit returned to India, he might ask if any of us would like to come to England, where we could live and work for him. I was very grateful for the offer, since I have no family there, nor does my husband—who also worked for Mr. Chit—and we have often dreamed of coming to England. I am happy to say that I like it here very much. Mr. Henry and your family have been very kind to me.”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Amala said. “I do hope that you will indulge me whenever possible and we might talk of our homeland.”

“I would like that very much,” Lekha said. “Thank you, memsahib.”

“It’s lovely to hear such a word spoken here,” Amala said. “But you may call me Amala; there’s no need for such formality.”

“Miss Amala, then,” Lekha said, rising gracefully to her feet. She turned toward Viola, “Will there be anything else for now?”

“No, thank you, Lekha.”

Lekha nodded and left the room with the grace and beauty of a rare butterfly. For a long moment, Amala looked toward the door through which she’d exited, pondering how inexplicably soothed she felt by Lekha’s presence in the house. She turned to look at Henry, since the silence implied that everyone was waiting for her reaction. He looked positively pleased with himself, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Aren’t you clever,” she said.

“It was never part of my plan to end up living in this home and bringing some of my servants with me,” Henry said. “But when it worked out that way, I can’t say it didn’t occur to me that it might be good for you to have people from India around you. . . whenever you finally chose to come home.”

“I’m ashamed I didn’t think of it before,” Oliver said. “Henry’s right; you should have people around you who might help you not feel so out of place—at least at home.”

“People?” Amala asked. “Lekha did say she’s married. Her husband is here, I assume.”