With a shuffle of chairs, the men resumed their seats.

She glanced at Delborough. “I realize it might be irregular, but if I could have a small glass of that…?”

He met her eyes. “It’s arrack.”

“I know.”

He signaled to the barboy to bring another glass. While they waited, beneath the table’s edge she opened her reticule and drew out MacFarlane’s packet.

The boy delivered the glass, and Delborough poured a half measure.

With a smile that went awry, she accepted it and took a small sip. The sharp taste made her nose wrinkle, but her uncle had allowed her to partake of the liquor in an experimental fashion; she knew of its fortifying properties. She took a larger sip, then lowered the glass. Quashing the impulse to look at the brown-haired major, she fixed her gaze on Delborough. “I asked at the gate and they told me. I’m very sorry that Captain MacFarlane didn’t make it back.”

Delborough’s expression couldn’t get any stonier, but he inclined his head. “If you could tell us what happened from the beginning, it would help us understand.”

They’d been MacFarlane’s friends; they needed to know. “Yes, of course.” She cleared her throat. “We started very early from Poona.”

She told the story simply, without embellishment.

When she reached the point where she’d parted from the gallant captain, she paused and drained her glass. “I tried to argue, but he would have none of it. He drew me aside-ahead-and gave me this.” She lifted the packet. Laying it on the table, she pushed it toward Delborough. “Captain MacFarlane asked me to bring this to you.”

She finished her tale in the minimum of words, ending with, “He turned back with a few men, and the rest came with me.”

When she fell silent, the distracting major on her left shifted. Spoke gently. “And you sent them back when you came within sight of safety.” When she glanced his way, met his hazel eyes, he added, “You did the best you could.”