Dark Road to Darjeeling by Deanna Raybourn Page A

I.” He looked at his son fondly, and it was apparent that the good Reverend was a kindly and tolerant father. “More often, he escapes the schoolroom and roams the countryside with his cages and nets.”
    “A budding naturalist then?” I asked.
    Robin nodded, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. “I mean to be a great natural historian, like Charles Darwin, and make tremendous discoveries. I have already begun my book upon Himalayan fauna,” he said, withdrawing a disreputable-looking notebook from his pocket. It was stained with a variety of nasty substances, one of which looked alarmingly like blood, and it smelled vile. But it was thick with notes and specimens, and I had little doubt Master Robin would make a name for himself in the scientific world.
    And it occurred to me that an observant child might prove an excellent source of information, as well as a perfect excuse for poking about the countryside in search of information. Only later did I reflect that another person might have thought itruthless to make use of a child, but in that moment, I merely seized the opportunity before me. “I should like to see something of the valley whilst I am here,” I told him. “And I think you are just the person to show me. Perhaps you will have time to guide me.”
    He tipped his head to one side, and as his curls parted I saw his ears were slightly pointed at the tips, like a faun’s. “Of course, but if we see something important, you must promise to be very quiet. That’s the only way you see things, you know. If you make noise, you never observe anything,” he added, rolling his eyes toward his sister.
    The Reverend caught the gesture and drew his daughter forward. “Ah, you have not met my eldest, Lady Julia. This is Primrose.”
    She sketched an awkward curtsey, and I offered her my hand. “How kind of you, my dear, but that is not necessary at all. Shake hands with me instead.”
    To my surprise, the sulky mouth drew even farther down, and I thought it was a pity. She might have been a pretty girl were it not for that mouth. Her eyes were a medium, muddy colour, with nothing of the dark charm of her brother’s, but they were wide and well-shaped under gracefully winged brows, and her complexion was unblemished. Her hair might have been her real beauty, but the thick mass of it was plaited unbecomingly into two long hanks that hung down her back, and her dress was frightful, a girlish mass of ruffles and embellishments that strained at hip and bosom. Something simple and plainly cut would have suited her better, for the childish furbelows only served to underscore her age, whereas a well-cut costume would have lent her dignity and poise. I could not imagine the girl had chosen the dress for herself, for she tugged and fidgeted with it constantly, and more than once I caught her eyes lingering covetously upon my severely-tailored silk.
    She slipped away as soon as she had shaken my hand, mumbling something as she fled toward the table of cakes and pastries—a mistake, I thought, given her rounded figure.
    “Primrose is a little shy,” the Reverend offered by way of apology for his daughter’s churlishness. He gave me a small smile, and I warmed to him. He seemed a genuinely pleasant fellow, and I quite liked his son, even if his wife and daughter were a little curious.
    “Never mind, Reverend. I was a girl once. I remember how dreadful I was. We all grow out of it, I promise you.”
    The smile deepened. “You are very kind.”
    We fell silent and I realised this was the moment to open my interrogations, however pleasant and innocuous they might seem.
    “We are newly come into your valley, Reverend. You must tell us about the place. We have not yet ventured out to make the acquaintance of our neighbours.”
    His brow furrowed as he thought. “You will know the ladies of Pine Cottage, of course, for I hear they are connections of yours.”
    “Indeed. I am rather surprised they have not come,” I said,