1852: Bombay to London
Bombay is a bewildering place and I find myself thrust into a world so rich with colour, custom and intrigue that each day is a new performance. The English society here is a curious mixture of impatience and striving; titles mean far less than the fortunes one can claim or the alliances one can forge.
Speaking of alliances, I have learned that among the Indian princes, manners are a game of silk and steel—graceful smiles masking razor-sharp ambition. Just last evening, I attended a durbar where I observed a princeling silently dismiss a rival with a mere glance. The courtesies of their court far exceed in subtlety our own civilities.
Do tell me, Harriette, what new fashions spark the imagination in London? Are the narrow waists still reigning supreme or does the crowd there adopt the looser lines of what I might call ‘exiled elegance’? And the scandals—do let me know who has fallen from grace or risen like a phoenix. Here, gossip flows as freely as the monsoon rains.
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