Leaving Everything Most Loved Read Online Free PDF Page A

the place where Sandra had placed her hand and, for a glimpse in time, seemed like another person. A spirit without discipline.
    â€œDo you have a photograph of your sister?” asked Maisie.
    â€œYes, here—I brought one for you.” Pramal reached into his pocket and brought out a brown-and-white photograph, a portrait of a woman with large almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and lips slightly parted, as if she were about to laugh, but managed to stop herself. Her hair seemed oiled, such was the reflection in the photograph, and though Maisie could only guess at the colors of the sari, she imagined deep magenta, a rosy peach, perhaps rimmed in gold, or silver. She touched the dark place on her forehead where Usha had marked her skin with a red bindi, and at once she felt pain between her own eyes. She handed the photograph to Billy.
    â€œShe was a beautiful girl, Mr. Pramal,” said Billy.
    Pramal nodded, as Billy passed the photograph to Sandra, who frowned as she studied the image.
    â€œWhat is it, Sandra?” asked Maisie.
    â€œNothing, Miss.” She shrugged, handing the photograph back to Maisie. “No, nothing—she just looked sort of familiar, that’s all. But then they all—no, it’s nothing.”
    â€œMay we keep the photograph?” asked Maisie.
    â€œIndeed. I have others.”
    â€œTell me what happened when she arrived here—where did she live?”
    â€œI would send letters to this address, in St. John’s Wood.” Pramal pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to Maisie. “This is the address. Later, she wrote that I should send my letters poste restante to a post office in southeast London.”
    She nodded. “Where was she living when she died? Have the family been in touch?”
    Pramal shook his head. “My sister was given notice within a few years of disembarking here in Great Britain. She was cast aside by the family, with nowhere to go, no money except that which was owed her. I did not know this until a long time afterwards—she did not want to bring shame on her family.”
    â€œBut what happened to her?”
    â€œShe found somewhere to live—in an ayah’s hostel, in a place called Addington Square. That’s probably why I was not given an address—she didn’t want me to know where she was living, and I think she also would not have wanted anyone else intercepting her correspondence.”
    â€œAddington Square’s in Camberwell,” said Billy. “But what’s an ayah’s hostel?”
    â€œIt’s where women live who were servants,” Sandra interjected, leaning towards Pramal. “They call them ayahs, don’t they? Women who look after the children—they do nearly all the work so the mother doesn’t have to lift a finger. They come over with the family, and when the family doesn’t need them anymore, that’s it—out on your ear in a strange country with nowhere to go.” She looked at Maisie. “We talked about this problem at one of our women’s meetings—terrible it is. At least there are a couple of hostels for the women, though it doesn’t stop some from having to work as—”
    Maisie shook her head. Sandra had become involved in what was being talked about as “women’s politics” and would not draw back from confrontation. It seemed to Maisie that she had found her voice since the death of her husband—but on this occasion, she did not want Sandra to describe the ways in which a homeless ayah might be pressed to make enough money to keep herself.
    â€œSo Usha found lodgings in an ayah’s hostel. And you had no knowledge of her situation until—when?” asked Maisie.
    â€œUntil about nine or ten months ago. I have a family, Miss Dobbs, so I did not have sufficient funds to pay for her immediate passage home—and she told me she had almost enough, so was planning to