The Secret of the India Orchid

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  The room was a study, classically and definitively masculine in décor. A large mahogany desk acted as the room’s focal point, with a comfortable seating arrangement next to an impressive marble hearth. A large window overlooked the darkened exterior of the side yard. Bookcases lined one wall, and the whole of it was anchored with a thick Turkish rug that was a light tan in color.

  Stately though the space was, there was clear evidence of a disturbance. A large lamp had fallen to the floor, broken, and spilled its kerosene. An errant match would see the room in flames instantly. Several small pieces of statuary littered the hearth, as though someone had come along and swept aside the mantel’s adornments. A painting hung crookedly on the wall above the mantel, exposing a safe that stood wide open with several objects inside. One of the chairs in the seating arrangement had been overturned, and there was no mistaking a large, garishly dark stain on the rug near the desk—­evidence of significant blood loss.

  Lady Pilkington stood near her husband, wringing her hands, her face ashen. Anthony placed a hand at her elbow. “My lady, allow Major Stuart and me to search out details concerning this. You’ve a house bursting at the seams with guests, and we should hate for your costume ball to be remembered with sensational gossip.”

  Lady Pilkington put a hand to her midsection and nodded. She glanced at her husband, who was as white as the fabric of his costume. He stared at the dark stain on the rug, one hand at the back of his neck, clearly dazed.

  “George,” Lady Pilkington said, “I believe you should accompany me. It won’t do to have such scandal attached to our name or the Residency.”

  “Quite so,” he mumbled.

  “Sir,” Stuart said to Pilkington, “I shall notify my superiors immediately that we have a situation likely involving foul play. Many officers in the unit are currently involved in diplomatic affairs with the prince; I suspect they may instruct me to lead an investigation into this matter. I shall, of course, be discreet.”

  “Yes, I do appreciate that.”

  “Before you return to your guests, can you tell me if you note anything missing?”

  Pilkington ran a hand through his thinning hair. “The safe is open, of course, though Captain Miller’s packet of papers seems to be the only thing missing. My other valuables are all accounted for.”

  As Pilkington closed the safe and spun the combination feature, Sophia leaned closer to hear Anthony’s quiet question. “Could Miller have simply retrieved the packet of papers? Did he know the combination to the safe?”

  Pilkington shook his head. “I am the only one who knows the combination. But more to the point—where is Miller?”

  “I saw him arrive roughly an hour ago,” Dylan said. “Before I knew it, he had slipped through the crowd and I lost sight of him. That was when I pulled Lord Wilshire from the ballroom, and then, of course, Lady Pilkington directed us here to you.”

  Lord Pilkington’s eyes were clouded with confusion. “Miller told me he had a party interested in some documents, asked if I’d meet him here to open the safe. I was delayed by several minutes, and when I finally arrived, the safe was wide open, the furniture knocked askew, and there was that.” He gestured to the stain on the rug.

  Anthony nodded. “The fact that only his packet is missing suggests either he took it himself or he met someone here, and that person now has it. Whether or not the meeting began cordially is of no consequence, given that there are clear signs of a struggle.”

  Lady Pilkington shuddered. She produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “Please, Major,” she implored, looking at Stuart, “you mustn’t allow news of this unpleasantness to become common knowledge. Lord Pilkington’s reputation must remain above reproach. He . . . we . . .” Her voice trembled.

  “I shall be the soul of discretion,” Major Stuart said. “But, my lady, clearly someone was badly wounded in this room tonight, perhaps even murdered. I shall do all in my power to keep the Residency from being cast in an unfavorable light, but we must consider the fact that either someone attending the party had issue with Captain Miller and wanted the documents he possessed, or Miller himself was the perpetrator and fought someone, ending the altercation with what looks to be an enormous amount of blood loss.” Stuart glanced at Anthony. “We must locate Miller.”

  Anthony nodded, his expression tight.

  “You would help Major Stuart investigate?” Lady Pilk­ington looked at Anthony as if she were a lost child. “You’re a good sort, Lord Wilshire, and I do feel infinitely reassured by that.”

  His face softened, and he again took the lady by the elbow. “We shall solve this mystery, never you fear.”

  Lord and Lady Pilkington headed for the door, and Sophia flattened herself against the wall, hoping she might go unnoticed in the dark hallway, that the dark blue of her uniform costume would blend in. The Pilkingtons walked past her, unseeing, and Sophia held her breath until they turned the corner and disappeared from her view.

  “You may as well come out now, Sophia,” came the dry comment from the doorway.

  She turned to see Anthony watching her with a half-smile.

  “When did you see me?” She was rather disgruntled; she thought she’d been very stealthy.

  “The moment you spied around the corner.” He gestured toward the room with his head, and she followed him into the study.

  Stuart’s expression registered surprise. “Miss Elliot?” He looked at Anthony in question.

  Sophia waved a hand at them. “You needn’t worry—I shan’t tell tales of your espionage. I simply wondered why Anthony was so preoccupied while we danced, so I tracked him here.”

  Stuart squatted to examine the Turkish rug; he touched his finger to the edge of the garishly dark red stain. “Drying around the edges,” he said. “This probably happened just after I spotted Miller the first time and then lost him.”

  Anthony frowned. “Given the time frame, I’m not certain I remember who was in the ballroom.”

  “The crowds are in constant flux,” Sophia said. “People are shifting between the ballroom and the verandah, and I also saw several people in the library and lounge.”

  Anthony nodded. “And we do not even know for certain that whomever scuffled in here were official party attendees. It could have been someone else Miller knew, someone who had nothing to do with the party.”

  Stuart stood. “We must assume that one of the people was Captain Miller. It is his packet of documents that is missing from the safe, and now the man himself has disappeared.”

  “We also might assume that if Miller wasn’t the victim here, whomever bled on this rug will have family or associates who will soon report him missing.”

  “Or her,” Sophia put in. “It could have been a woman who fought with him.”

  The two men nodded, Stuart with apparent respect. “Very foolhardy of me to not have considered the things a woman would notice.”

  “She is observant—sometimes uncomfortably so.” Anthony smiled, rueful.

  “Gentlemen,” Sophia said, clasping her hands. “My curiosity knows no bounds. If I may, what is the nature of this business with Captain Miller?”

  The two men exchanged a glance, and Stuart circled the desk near the blood puddle, examining the floor as he walked. As evasions went, it was well-executed. Sophia turned her attention to Anthony.

  “He is Jack’s former sea captain, Sophia. His ship was the Firefly.”

  Sophia blinked. She didn’t remember Jack sailing on any ship by that name. What was Anthony not telling her? “So you were passing along Jack’s well wishes?” she asked carefully.

  Anthony gave the barest hesitation, then nodded, his eyes and expression giving nothing away.

  “You certainly are devoted. Given your distracted manner earlier in the ballroom, it seemed that your intent in locating the man involved more than a mere exchange of felicitations o
n behalf of a former first mate.”

  Anthony ran a hand through his hair and briefly closed his eyes. “Sophia, I—”

  She held up her hand. “Clearly there is more at work here than you wish to discuss with me. Do remember, however,” she said, looking at Major Stuart, who regarded her with the same calm, careful manner as Anthony, “that there are places a woman can access that a man cannot. Should you find yourself in need of an additional pair of eyes, I am at your disposal.”

  Sophia looked at the bloodstain and suppressed a shudder. “How on earth did someone move a body without leaving a blood trail, I wonder? Wrap something about the wound, then . . . drag the person to either the window or door? But venturing into the hallway would run the risk of witnesses. . . . There should be some sort of dragging pattern somewhere, wouldn’t you think?”

  Anthony and Dylan both looked down at the floor, and Anthony’s mouth turned upward as he glanced back at her. “The rug here is matted along the edge.” He pointed to the spot and then followed it to the large window that opened onto the Residency’s side yard. The window slid open easily, and he looked over the edge.

  After a moment, he closed the window with a chuckle. “I do believe you are right, Miss Elliot. Bind the wound to avoid leaving an even larger blood trail that might be followed, drag the unconscious person to the window, and dump him out. It appears that the orchids growing alongside the house have been crushed.”

  Dylan shook his head, his smile wry. “We have not been here long enough to assess the scene, you know, Miss Elliot. Our first priority was getting the Pilkingtons out of the room. We would have discovered this evidence eventually.” He clearly teased her, and she laughed.

  “Of course you would. Well, gentlemen, I shall leave you to it.” Sophia left the room, determined to stick close to her sponsor’s side for the rest of the evening. At one time or another, the woman would likely speak to everyone in attendance, even if only to wish them farewell at the evening’s close. Someone in the big house knew something.

  Chapter 9

  Sophia returned to the ballroom, this time looking over the crowd of guests and servants with an eye attuned to discomfort. Nobody in the throng seemed to have witnessed a scuffle in Lord Pilkington’s study, if demeanor and aspect were indicators. The ball was still in full swing, and its attendees were joyous and loud as ever. She spied Major Stuart once he reentered the room. He scanned the crowd, made his way to Lord Pilkington, whispered something in his ear, received an answer with a nod, and then disappeared again.

  Sophia crossed the room to Lady Pilkington, who was still pale but had regained a large portion of her former composure. “My lady,” she said and placed her hand on her arm. “I can only imagine you must be weary after preparing for such a grand event.”

  Lady Pilkington looked at Sophia with eyes wide, and nodded. “I . . .” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “I am quite exhausted, I must admit. But, dear girl, you mustn’t fuss over me—I shall be fine. You should dance and enjoy yourself with the other young guests.”

  “I confess to being a trifle fatigued myself, my lady, and I have quite enjoyed the party thus far, I assure you. I doubt I could convince my feet to dance any more this evening.” Sophia smiled. “I thought to make a trip past the refreshment table. May I bring you juice or champagne, perhaps?”

  The woman nodded. “Champagne,” she murmured, and when Sophia turned, she grabbed hold of her arm. “Miss Elliot, I—” She dabbed at her forehead with a handkerchief. “I thank you for your concern. I haven’t a daughter—I mentioned to you before—but I should have had. And she would have been of an age with you, had she lived.”

  Sophia swallowed, emotion gathering in her throat.

  Lady Pilkington squeezed Sophia’s arm. “I appreciate your compassion.”

  Sophia nodded, feeling slightly guilty that her purpose in approaching the woman had been twofold. Indeed, Lady Pilkington’s face was alarmingly pale and cause for concern, but Sophia also hoped she would take her into her confidence. There may be something the woman knew, something she didn’t even realize she knew, that might shed light on the night’s events.

  Sophia surveyed the ballroom one more time. It was as she suspected—a few people were offering Lady Pilkington their good-byes as they left, and rather than miss the chance to observe the guests more closely, Sophia raced as gracefully and unobtrusively as possible to the refreshment table to grab a glass of champagne. Mistress Manners would have taken issue with Sophia’s rush, but she was dressed as a man, after all. Surely she could be afforded a bit of leniency.

  As she left the refreshment table, she saw Rachael Scarsdale dancing with a professor who was dressed as William Shakespeare. Sophia didn’t have the heart to interrupt her with news of murder and mayhem in the lord’s study, and she wasn’t altogether certain she should mention it to anyone at all. It was just as well Rachael was occupied. Sophia might have been tempted to divulge what she knew.

  For her own part, Sophia politely refused offers to dance and instead lingered near Lady Pilkington until the wee morning hours when the ball began to wind down. She felt oddly protective of her sponsor. The lady swayed on her feet, while Lord Pilkington behaved as though nothing untoward had occurred in his study hours before. It was to their credit that none of the guests seemed any the wiser. Beneath the surface, however, his distraction was evident. He made eye contact with his wife frequently and once clasped her fingers in a tender grip.

  Eventually the last of the guests trickled either upstairs to their rooms, outside for their carriages, or for a short stroll back to their various residential compounds. Nobody seemed out of character to Sophia, but then she didn’t really know very many people at the party, and she was hardly a professional investigator. She felt a stab of frustration at her limitations, but shoved it aside for Lady Pilkington, who still hadn’t admitted her knowledge of a huge puddle of blood in her husband’s study.

  “What a smashing success.” Sophia offered her arm to the woman. The lady hadn’t succumbed to a fit of vapors or excused herself early. She had stayed on her feet to the bitter end, knowing full well that someone might have been murdered in her home. Regrettably, her concern for the reputation of the Residency was not exaggerated. Sophia knew that the wrong snippet of gossip whispered in the right ear could mean upheaval and disgrace.

  Lady Pilkington smiled at Sophia but her eyes were tired and her thoughts clearly elsewhere. “Thank you, dear. It was quite the crush, was it not?”

  “The most splendid of crushes. In all of my time out in London society, I have never seen an event so well lauded or attended.”

  The compliment had its desired effect, and Lady Pilkington’s eyes brightened.

  “May I escort you to your room and hand you over to your maid, my lady? You have been running ragged all day and must be exhausted.”

  Lady Pilkington’s brow creased. “I had wanted a word with George,” she said absently. “But he is likely speaking with . . . some of the gentlemen. I’ll have my maid deliver him a message to see me before he retires.” She managed a smile. “Yes, I would dearly love to retire to my chambers, and I feel positively spoiled with your kind attention.”

  Sophia left her sponsor in the capable hands of her maid. She then returned to her own room, deep in thought and rather exhausted. “Briggs,” she asked her maid, “were you with the other servants at all this evening?”

  “Yes, miss.” Briggs covered a yawn and moved to help Sophia disrobe. “I spent some time in the kitchens, but truthfully, it makes me rather uncomfortable. They prepare our food sitting on the floor, did you know? Very nice, they are, the local servants, but very much different. I returned to the sitting room upstairs in the servants’ quarters and played card games for a time.”

  “Did anybody mention something strange? Goings on that may be out of the ordinary?”

  Briggs frowned
as she shook out the costume jacket and laid it over one of the chairs by the hearth. “No, nothing of note. Just that this costume ball drew in even more people than the last one. I suspect Himmat or Abdullah might be better informed if anything peculiar happened. They were likely on the main level for all of it. Not to mention the kitchen staff. They were running back and forth like mad.”

  Sophia stripped out of the rest of the costume and sighed with relief at the simple nightgown Briggs draped over her head. “You go to bed, Briggs. I am going to wash up and then sleep until next week.”

  Briggs smiled and curtseyed. “Pleasant dreams, miss.” She left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Sophia washed with the cool water in the basin at the dry sink. She barely remembered to clean her teeth before falling into the soft bed and pulling the mosquito netting around it. Her claim to Briggs may not have been exaggerated. She’d been months aboard ship, finally arrived in India, met again the man she’d loved who had stolen—and broken—her heart, and was now searching for answers about a possible murder. One week of sleep might not be enough.

  She closed her eyes and settled in against the cool, crisp white sheets and sighed. Bliss.

  Asleep nearly immediately, she woke to a quiet but insistent knock on her door. Using a shaft of moonlight from the window, she consulted the pocket watch she kept at the bedside. She’d been asleep for only two hours—not enough time even for dawn to break.

  Before she could summon the wherewithal to answer the door, it opened a crack and Rachael’s head appeared.

  “Sophia!” The whisper was more of a loud hiss.

  “Rachael, what on earth?” Sophia pushed herself upright and opened the netting around her bed.