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catch her breath,” Mrs. Gales said reprovingly, with a glance at the weary, unhappy Amanda. “Is the matter so urgent it cannot wait?”
    The man apologised, but declared they could not weigh anchor until the problem was resolved.
    Alarmed and puzzled, Amanda went with him, Mrs. Gales following with stiff disapproval.
    As soon as Amanda entered the wardroom, her heart sank. Beside Captain Blayton, Padji stood at proud attention.
    “We have a problem, Miss Cavencourt,” said the captain after a brief, apologetic preamble. “In fact, we have had any number of problems in the last twelve hours,” he added irritably.
    “I do hope Padji has not created difficulties for you, sir,” said Amanda.
    Captain Blayton’s stern countenance relaxed slightly. “Ah, so you do know him. When he claimed to be your cook, I must admit I was—well, that is neither here nor there. The case is this: my own cook failing to report for duty last night, I ordered a search. Just before dawn, this fellow—Padji, as you say—appeared, and led us to a certain tea shop, where we found Saunders in a state of delirium.”
    “Terrible fever,” Padji said gravely. “I heard his cries. I have heard that terrible sound before.”
    Amanda threw Mrs. Gales a glance. The widow must have grasped the situation just as quickly, for she glared at Padji.
    Sublimely oblivious to Mrs. Gales’s sulphurous expression, Padji bent his own innocent gaze upon Amanda.
    “I tell the great ship’s master I have no more heart to cook for the family when my gracious mistress is gone,” he said sadly. “My heart breaks because she leaves forever. In the night, I run away to see the ship that will bear her away across the world. I weep many tears into the waters, to send a part of me with her. It was Fate led me to the place, mistress, that I might find the poor man, my brother cook, in time to save his life. I carry him, gentle as one holds a baby, to the shop of a good friend. This friend recognises the man, Saunders. And so myself, I seek out the wise captain, and myself do his bidding and find the doctor. With my own hands, I make a healing broth, which the doctor himself tastes.”
    “Yes, well, there’s no question you were helpful,” the captain interjected. “But we ought to get to the point, oughtn’t we?” Turning to Amanda, he said, “The doctor has pronounced Saunders unfit to travel.”
    “To move him from his bed would be death,” Padji solemnly agreed. “I see at once the hand of Fate. The gods lead me to this man. Why? Inscrutable are the ways of the Eternal, yet this riddle is soon unlocked. The man is a cook. What is Padji? A cook. It is plain I am summoned in order to take his place, and continue near my beloved mistress.”
    “The point is,” the captain said impatiently, “this fellow proposes to cook for us in exchange for passage to England. It is true I need a cook. On the other hand, I cannot possibly harbour runaway native servants. I considered speaking to Lord Cavencourt himself, but—well, I was reluctant to get your cook into difficulties, after he’d made himself so useful. He seemed exceedingly alarmed at the prospect of confronting your brother.”
    “Dear me,” said Mrs. Gales sympathetically. “How awkward for you.”
    Amanda found her own sympathy inclining to Padji. He had done a terrible thing, but he was obviously desperate. She could not abandon him.
    “How I wish I’d known sooner,” she told Captain Blayton. “Had you spoken to Lord Cavencourt, you would have learned he’d have no objections. Padji has simply spared my brother the unhappy task of discharging him. You see,” she quickly explained, before the captain could wonder what horrendous crime the Indian had committed, “the rest of us had grown accustomed to Padji’s hearty style of cooking. Unfortunately, Lady Cavencourt found it too robust for her delicate palate.”
    An expression of relief washed over the captain’s lined face and a