“I don’t take your meaning, sir,” I faltered. Could the man intend to sell me for a slave? “I have friends in England who en’t wealthy, but would impoverish themselves without a murmur to reimburse you any expenses to which you may have been put, if that’s your condition.”
“Oh, no, madam, Sinzaun en’t a trader. Nothing could please him better than to have the happiness of winning your affections, but he has a foolish prejudice against using force to compel ’em, and piques himself upon his genteel treatment of you. But there’s others that don’t share this prejudice, and he might find himself forced, in his own interest, to resign his concern in you to them. Pray don’t suspect him of the vulgarity of employing menaces. He seeks no bride but one that comes to him of her own free will, for he don’t desire that either here or in Europe his Clarissa should proclaim herself his only upon compulsion.”
“At least, sir, let me know what I have to fear,” I groaned.
He smiled. “Why, no, madam; that’s my affair. You don’t choose to give me a favourable answer to-night, perhaps? No? then we’ll leave the matter until our next meeting. I can’t advise you to continue to resist me, for I have so much interest in you as makes me deplore the notion of putting you to any inconvenience, and i’ faith, I see no hope for you if you persist in your present frame of mind. You have, I believe, learned something of my disposition since coming to Muxadavad, and you won’t suspect me of going beyond my intentions when I say that in justice to myself I must soon abandon this struggle in favour of a more certain good. Believe me, I can’t but pity your obstinacy, and you’ll remember this too late.”
May ye 17th.
Sinzaun is departed again upon an embassy to Mons. Bussy, carrying with him, so Misery tells me, a gift of two lacks of rupees from the Soubah to the French leader. So long as he is absent I may hope for a respite, but he can’t now be away much longer. For some days I have had the thought of seeking to discover from Misery the fate that he designs for me, but this morning it chanced that she approached the matter herself, by asking me whether I would give her my hussy when I left this place.
“Why, Misery, you can’t sew,” I said. “What will you do with scissors and needles?”
“Oh, they’ll be useful in other ways, Beebee. Europe goods are stronger and more delicate than country-made, and your slave has served you faithfully for close upon a year.”
“But I’ve no thought of leaving this place,” I said. “Whither should I go?”
“Why, Beebee, to the Killa. Meer Sinzaun destines you for the Nabob.”