with pink blotches and a slapdash effort with his ablutions that morning had left patches of unmown stubble dotted here and there across his hollow cheeks. A cut beneath his ear was beaded with dried blood.
“Whatever is the matter with you, Selwyn?” she said. She would never have spoken to him in such a way before she had made her escape from England. Why, he had told her that it was her silent acquiescence that had most appealed to him in his choice of her as his bride. As if she hadn't known that her father had made him a generous payment on her wedding day. But her father and Dr. Cattermole were far away now, and she no longer felt the need to feign such meekness. Still, she thought, at least Selwyn had stopped reminding her how lucky she was to have found a husband at all.
“Remember your duty and speak to your husband with respect,” he snapped now, as though hearing her thoughts. “Where's your gratitude? Where do you think you would be without me? I mean, if it were not for my noble work at the Magdalene asylum with Dr. Cattermole, your father might never have found a husband as suitable as I, nor as understanding of
who
and
what
you are.”
Lilian's face turned red, then white. She gripped the rifle she had been cleaning and fought to master the urge to discharge it into her husband's face. How little he knew! She breathed deeply tosteady herself. Now was not the time to rise to Selwyn's taunts. Instead, she lowered her eyes and began packing her cleaning materials away.
Selwyn gave a dejected cough and rummaged in his pocket for a handkerchief to mop his sweating brow. “Forgive me, my dear,” he said. “I should not have spoken so. I'm sure you must dwell every day on the weaknesses of your character and the unhappy consequences of your actions. Of course, I realize that at times your gratitude is so profound as to scarcely be able to make itself felt.” He dabbed at his forehead and examined the resultant moist handkerchief. “This place makes me feel unwell,” he muttered. “Perhaps I have heat stroke.”
“But you've hardly been outside,” said Lilian, turning away so that she did not have to look at him.
“The cholera, then.”
“That's absurd.”
“Typhus.” Selwyn sank back into his chair with a groan. “That's what it must be.”
“Nonsense,” said Lilian. “Malaria, perhaps.”
“Malaria!” Selwyn looked startled. He had not thought of that. “Is it fatal?”
“It can be. Are your hands shaking?”
“No.” He held his hands out. As he stared at them, they began to twitch. “Yes, yes, they are!” he screamed. “Look!”
“Really, Selwyn, you are so suggestible.” Lilian sighed. “Anyway, this is the end of our journey. We'll be in Kushpur later today. You can see the doctor there,” she added, relenting a little.
“I'm dying and you don't even care.” He sounded irritable. “We should never have come. I don't know what I was thinking.” He groaned and scratched at his hands again. “This infernal heat is killing me. I should have taken that parish in Kirkcudbright and that would have been an end to it.”
Indeed it would
, thought Lilian. She remembered him declaring his intention to be a missionary. It was the day after their marriage. He had made love to her for the first time, and filled with a new-foundconfidence now that he had, at last, managed to deposit his seed in the desired location rather than on the bedsheets, he had made his announcement. Africa was his initial choice—more wild and untamed than any other continent, he had said excitedly, a mysterious place filled with savages, never mind heathens, a place where a man could make his mark. Lilian had nodded. “Of course, Selwyn,” she had said as her husband began to fumble with her nightdress once more. In the end, however, passage to India had proved to be more economical.
But now, with a cloud of flies circling his head and with his Bible spotted with mold spores, Lilian knew that the
“Whatever is the matter with you, Selwyn?” she said. She would never have spoken to him in such a way before she had made her escape from England. Why, he had told her that it was her silent acquiescence that had most appealed to him in his choice of her as his bride. As if she hadn't known that her father had made him a generous payment on her wedding day. But her father and Dr. Cattermole were far away now, and she no longer felt the need to feign such meekness. Still, she thought, at least Selwyn had stopped reminding her how lucky she was to have found a husband at all.
“Remember your duty and speak to your husband with respect,” he snapped now, as though hearing her thoughts. “Where's your gratitude? Where do you think you would be without me? I mean, if it were not for my noble work at the Magdalene asylum with Dr. Cattermole, your father might never have found a husband as suitable as I, nor as understanding of
who
and
what
you are.”
Lilian's face turned red, then white. She gripped the rifle she had been cleaning and fought to master the urge to discharge it into her husband's face. How little he knew! She breathed deeply tosteady herself. Now was not the time to rise to Selwyn's taunts. Instead, she lowered her eyes and began packing her cleaning materials away.
Selwyn gave a dejected cough and rummaged in his pocket for a handkerchief to mop his sweating brow. “Forgive me, my dear,” he said. “I should not have spoken so. I'm sure you must dwell every day on the weaknesses of your character and the unhappy consequences of your actions. Of course, I realize that at times your gratitude is so profound as to scarcely be able to make itself felt.” He dabbed at his forehead and examined the resultant moist handkerchief. “This place makes me feel unwell,” he muttered. “Perhaps I have heat stroke.”
“But you've hardly been outside,” said Lilian, turning away so that she did not have to look at him.
“The cholera, then.”
“That's absurd.”
“Typhus.” Selwyn sank back into his chair with a groan. “That's what it must be.”
“Nonsense,” said Lilian. “Malaria, perhaps.”
“Malaria!” Selwyn looked startled. He had not thought of that. “Is it fatal?”
“It can be. Are your hands shaking?”
“No.” He held his hands out. As he stared at them, they began to twitch. “Yes, yes, they are!” he screamed. “Look!”
“Really, Selwyn, you are so suggestible.” Lilian sighed. “Anyway, this is the end of our journey. We'll be in Kushpur later today. You can see the doctor there,” she added, relenting a little.
“I'm dying and you don't even care.” He sounded irritable. “We should never have come. I don't know what I was thinking.” He groaned and scratched at his hands again. “This infernal heat is killing me. I should have taken that parish in Kirkcudbright and that would have been an end to it.”
Indeed it would
, thought Lilian. She remembered him declaring his intention to be a missionary. It was the day after their marriage. He had made love to her for the first time, and filled with a new-foundconfidence now that he had, at last, managed to deposit his seed in the desired location rather than on the bedsheets, he had made his announcement. Africa was his initial choice—more wild and untamed than any other continent, he had said excitedly, a mysterious place filled with savages, never mind heathens, a place where a man could make his mark. Lilian had nodded. “Of course, Selwyn,” she had said as her husband began to fumble with her nightdress once more. In the end, however, passage to India had proved to be more economical.
But now, with a cloud of flies circling his head and with his Bible spotted with mold spores, Lilian knew that the
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