Page 145 of A Thousand Painted Hours

“She came back to England to get me to come home.”

“So? It worked.”

I shook out my sweater, and put my arms through the sleeves, in preparation for pulling it back over my head. “That’s not why I came home.”

He lost interest in the conversation. In one swift motion, I pulled the sweater over my head and reached for the hammer all at the same time. I slipped a little on the turpentine and water, but righted myself and then drove forward with the hammer, aiming for his knees. It landed, and he screamed in fury and pain, the lighter flying out of his hand. It fell on the floor and I kicked it toward the door.

Peter roared and looped one arm around my throat from behind, using his other hand to try to open my mouth to shove the cyanide inside. I bit him as hard as I could, and as he jerked away, I rammed my elbow into his ribs. He grunted, and I scrambled away, diving for the lighter.

I grabbed it, intending to throw it on to the landing. Before I could, I heard the unmistakable sound of a falling bomb and turned to see an incendiary fly through the open window. It landed on the chair,and instantly, flames exploded. Peter, standing in a pool of turpentine, screamed as his clothes caught fire. He staggered toward me.

I ran for my life. Down the stairs, grabbing the box of cats, and out the door into the night. I ran until I could no longer breathe, and then I walked, Bastet and her kitten jostling in the box, but silent, as if they understood I could not take one more distraction. I walked to Nina’s, and when she let me in, I fell into her arms. “Peter’s dead. My mother is dead. I need to go home.”

“Oh, darling, come in. Come in. I’ve got you.”

Victoria Terminus

December 1940

—76—

Telegram

To: Tanveer Singh, Talwarpur Palace

From:Elsie Turner,Aboard Ss Eastern Star

Mother and Peter Dead Stop Arriving Bombay Saturday.Stop December14Stop Victoria Terminus Stop Please Advise.Stop

Elsie

To: Elsie Turner, Ss Eastern Star

From:Tanveer Singh

Will Meet You Victoria Terminus.Stop

Love Tanveer

I stood on deck in a cold wind, watching Bombay approach on the horizon. My body felt hollow after the long journey on dangerous seas, but the sight of the city blew a wind of possibility through me.

At last. Again.

My meager belongings fit into a single bag, my shoes ill-fitting since it had been impossible to find a new pair before I left.

Jonathan had used his connections to secure the passage, and I traveled with a ragtag group of passengers, all of us war weary and escaping the madness of London, many Indians, of course, but a good many British as well. We were a subdued lot, grateful for the modest meals, the quiet. No sirens, no bombs, just the soothing swoosh of water against the walls of the ship, murmured conversations.

The weeks at sea gave me time to grieve. The house had burned to the ground. Mother and Peter were both found within, the fire blamed on incendiaries. Jonathan and Nina took care of the arrangements for Peter’s body.

Of course I had handled Mother myself, arranging for her interment next to my father and brother at Herewich, but I found I could not bear to remain in England one more week. She was gone and would not care if I attended her funeral.

On those long empty days on the open sea, I tried to collect myself, reassemble the jumbled jigsaw of my life. The piece I struggled most to fit was the betrayal of my mother, and perhaps even more, the way she’d held the secret from me for so many years. It was difficult to forgive.

And yet—would I do such a thing to protect my child? Her motives were ill-advised, but I knew in my deepest soul that she’d done everything for love of me. That was something I could understand. And truly, I would miss her the rest of my days.

Finally, I gave myself room to grieve Channan, who had slipped away a few weeks before my mother. Tanveer’s letter had arrived only days before I left.

November 13, 1940