The Wild Child by Mary Jo Putney Page B

small child, the dimly remembered presence known as Papa had once laughingly said she had a cat’s vision at night. Perhaps it was true. Certainly she had no trouble finding her way through even the deepest shadows.
    They reached the house, where a small side door was her usual entrance and exit. She located the hidden key by touch and let herself in. Side by side, she and Roxana ascended the narrow, enclosed stairwell that led up to the corridor by her bedroom. Her fingertips skimmed the wall as Roxana’s claws tapped hollowly on the bare wooden steps.
    In her bedroom, a faint light from the window revealed a round shape on her bed. Ginger. The cat raised his head and gave a mrrrrp of welcome. Cold and tired, she slid under the covers without bothering to undress and curled around the cat. Roxana followed, settling on the foot of the bed with a canine sigh. The emptiness didn’t go away, but finally, warmed by her friends, she slept. By luck, Dominic glanced out his window the next morning just as he finished dressing. Meriel and Roxana were disappearing in the direction of the garden sheds. According to Mrs. Marks, Meriel often met with Kamal there in the morning, presumably to commune in some strange way about what she wanted done. Anxious to catch up with her, he hurried downstairs and outside with no more than a wistful regret for the breakfast he was missing.
    As he cut through the parterre, he thought about how everyone placidly accepted Meriel’s comings and goings as if she were a privileged house pet. This whole household was organized around her condition, yet she was scarcely more than a will-o‘-the-wisp.
    But he understood now why she had never been turned over to a mental asylum. No rational human could want to see such a beautiful creature caged. Here she did no one any harm, and presumably enjoyed life in her own way.
    Despite his haste, when he reached the garden sheds Kamal was alone. The Indian was sitting cross-legged on the ground outside the glass house, eyes closed and hands relaxed. Dominic hesitated, not wanting to disturb what might be a prayer.
    Kamal’s eyes opened. “Good morning, my lord,” he said, unperturbed. Remembering how Kamal had greeted him the day before, Dominic pressed his hands together in front of his chest and inclined his head. “Namaste, Kamal. Has Lady Meriel come this way?”
    The older man got to his feet. “She works in the topiary garden this morning.”
    The topiary? That might be interesting. “Is there some way I might aid her?”
    Kamal studied him shrewdly. “Only in menial tasks beneath my lord’s dignity.”
    Dominic made an impatient gesture with one hand. “I am more concerned with spending time with the lady than with my dignity. How can I help?”
    “She is trimming the yews,” Kamal replied, approval in his dark eyes. “The clippings will need to be removed. If you are willing, there are sacks inside the shed.”
    Dominic started toward the shed indicated, then paused. The tattoos on Kamal’s cheeks appeared to have faded slightly. Was that possible? “Forgive my curiosity, but I wondered about the tattoos. They are very… striking. Unusual.”
    “Tattoos? Ah, the mehndi.” Kamal held out his hands. The designs there also seemed slightly lighter than the day before. “They are painted on with henna. A custom in my native land. They wear off after a week or two.”
    “I see.” Dominic said, glad the patterns had been achieved without painful tattooing. “You painted these on yourself?”
    Kamal shook his head. “The young mistress did them.”
    “Lady Meriel?” Startled, Dominic looked more closely at the designs. Such intricate work must require a high level of skill. “Did you teach her how?”
    “Aye. She had seen mehndi as a child in India. When she began to draw on herself with berry juice, I thought it best that she learn to use henna.” Smiling a little, Kamal flexed one decorated hand. “She has now surpassed her