Cover

Dedication

For Barbara Blisset whose wonderful book on Walthamstow and her memories of living there were inspirational.

Chapter One

East India Docks, London 1858

Katherine Martin stood on the upper deck of the steamship Aldebaran. She took a deep breath of the none-too-clean London air, tainted by the stench of the river mud and the manufactories on the banks of the Thames. It was a cold and rainy February day and the monochrome tones of her surroundings were a complete contrast to the heat, dust and vibrant colours of India, but it was home, and freedom from the terrors she and her parents had encountered at the start of the uprising. They were some of the fortunate ones whose loyal servants had helped them to escape from Delhi moments before the rebel army attacked. Kate recalled with a shudder the night when they had left the luxurious home of her uncle Edgar, who held a senior position in the East India Company. It had been a long and terrifying journey, but somehow, and with the help and goodwill of many villagers along the way, they had arrived in Bombay. They had stayed at the home of Sir Robert Audley, Uncle Edgar’s solicitor, and a letter of introduction to the manager of Uncle Edgar’s bank had been enough to secure funds for their return to London, travelling first class, and the basic necessities of clothing.

‘Don’t just stand there, Kate. I’ve sent Fellowes to find a cab.’ Sir Bartholomew Martin tapped the deck with his silver-headed malacca cane. He was not a patient man. How he had managed to hold on to the wretched stick throughout their hair-raising experiences was still a mystery to Kate. However, she was used to her father’s bursts of ill temper and she brushed past him, heading to where her mother was waiting at the top of the companionway.

‘Are you all right, Mama?’ Kate asked anxiously. ‘You look very pale.’

‘It’s the half-light, my dear. I’ll be fine when we get home. I long for a comfortable bed and a hot bath, and especially a change of clothes. I will put everything we’ve been forced to wear for all these weeks in the missionary barrel at the church.’

‘I don’t know,’ Kate said, smiling. ‘Having only two or three choices does make dressing much less of a chore.’

‘You see the bright side of every situation, Kate.’ Arabella Martin sighed and glanced anxiously at her husband. ‘Your papa looks angry. What has upset him now?’

‘He’s just miffed because Fellowes is taking his time.’ Kate kept a straight face with difficulty. Her father, who had been a magistrate in Delhi for three years, was used to having his orders obeyed instantly and without question.

‘Perhaps our luggage has been lost,’ Arabella said anxiously. ‘Maybe that’s why Fellowes is taking so long.’