The Secret of the India Orchid

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  Sophia scowled at the young soldier. “Does he mean her ill, do you suppose?”

  “I certainly have no basis to suspect it, but in the short time I have been here, Corporal Mailor has attempted to endear himself to no fewer than seven women, and he leads three other like-minded corporals about like the Pied Piper.”

  “Ah. The sheep.”

  “Yes. Such short-lived attention for any one woman is hardly rare here, of course, but he seems to me to be an opportunist.” He drew his brows together and paused, thinking. “He is rather more shiftless than most. His ambitions far exceed his potential, in my opinion, but he will reach upward, nonetheless.”

  “Hmm.” Sophia frowned. “One hopes her father might spot a ne’er-do-well and offer her some useful counsel. And you say both girls have been in Indian society for a time?”

  He nodded.

  “Perhaps they are more discerning than some. From what I’ve experienced in these scant two days, Major Stuart had the right of it. The Fishing Fleet ladies are often met fresh off the boat with multiple proposals. That the Denney daughters have lived here in this society and remain unattached speaks to their perspicacity, perhaps.”

  “Multiple proposals have been your experience? Was this what you were hoping for when you sought to join the Fleet?”

  Sophia snorted lightly. “Certainly not.” She then cursed herself for answering too quickly. She had wanted him to believe she was here to find a husband.

  He glanced at her but left the comment alone. Mercifully, he turned the discussion back to the Denney girls. “Whatever their reasons for remaining unattached, the daughters must be impressive indeed to defend such a stance against their father. Mr. Denney does not strike me as a parent who is concerned if his daughters marry for love or affection.”

  “A pity.” Sophia set her fork down on her plate. “My parents married for love and, true, it cost them dearly. But to this day my mother insists she would not change history even if she could.” She smiled, but it felt bittersweet, and she lowered her voice. “We used to sit in our flat, with barely enough to eat, Mama sicker and more frail by the day, and she would tell me stories of my handsome and wonderful father who would have so loved to see his beautiful children grow. He would be so proud of Jack, working hard at sea even as a child, all to help provide for his mother and little sister.”

  She glanced up at him and blinked away telltale moisture. “She always insisted that if a man and woman have love and affection, a desire to put each other above all else, that life is livable under any circumstances.” She cleared her throat. It wouldn’t do to cry her way through the meal, even if she didn’t like the squid. “And as I now have opportunities that she never dreamed of, I intend to take advantage. I’ll not marry simply for the sake of being married.”

  “Very progressive thinking, Miss Elliot.” His smile was gentle.

  Sophia nodded. “Yes. I shall marry someone I love, or not at all. So you see, my lord, your task is a challenging one. You must find me a husband I can adore.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, and her mouth dipped in a smile. “If I am relegated forever to the proverbial shelf, it shall be entirely your fault.”

  His jaw clenched before he shoved another bite of food in his mouth. Could it be the man was feeling uncomfortable?

  Sophia smiled. Good.

  Chapter 12

  The mansion sat in the midst of lush vegetation and green lawn that sloped gently down to a river just deep and wide enough to allow for light boat traffic. There wasn’t much movement this time of night, but torches spaced evenly along the bank gave an air of civilization to the otherwise untamed, colorful land. Anthony strolled with Dylan, Rachael Scarsdale, and Sophia, her hand resting in the crook of his arm.

  His frustration knew no bounds. Apparently Sophia was now fully resigned, even comfortable, with the notion that he wanted nothing from her beyond friendship. She had asked him to help her find a blasted husband!

  Another man. A man who was not him. For the love of heaven.

  His only hope was that he would be able to find fault with all potential suitors, of which there were legion in British India, and that she would assume his excessive criticism was due to his protective nature as a surrogate brother. It was laughable.

  He cursed Braxton again, as had become his habit of late, and made an effort to rein in his thoughts when Dylan stopped and glanced around. The four of them had wandered to a secluded spot by the river; likely the bulk of the other guests and visitors had opted to remain closer to the house. Even in the cooler season, snakes and a host of crawling creatures ventured toward human habitation, and Anthony kept one eye on the ground as they stopped.

  “Now then,” Dylan said, “once more—what exactly did Charlie and Amala say when you went to the nursery?”

  The women told of a young boy who had most assuredly witnessed a violent altercation but was too traumatized to speak of it. Indeed, he was now saying nothing at all to anyone, not even to his beloved ayah. Clearly, the victim had been the sea captain, after he and his attacker had fought over something removed from the safe. The attacker had dragged the captain to the window, thrown him out, and then disappeared.

  Anthony turned their revelations over again in his mind and wondered how on earth to proceed. The only witness to the captain’s likely demise was a young child too terrified to speak. How to remedy that? Anthony was well versed in manipulating adults, but children?

  Anthony sighed. “Very well. We are agreed that this information stays amongst us, yes? The fewer people with knowledge of the finer details, the better. I spoke with the Pilkingtons, and they both agreed, readily, to keep quiet while we continue investigating.”

  Sophia briefly looked at him, eyes narrowed, but she nodded. If she wondered why he sounded as though he were the point man for the investigation, she kept it to herself.

  “Suppose we return to the house,” Anthony suggested. “The torches are not bright enough to illuminate everything that might wish to crawl up and say hello.”

  Rachael’s eyes widened. “I should hate to find bugs or worse in my skirts.”

  “Long gone are the days when we searched for frogs then, cousin.” Dylan smiled at Rachael, and she laughed.

  They made their way slowly back up to the mansion, Rachael and Dylan walking just ahead and reminiscing. Anthony felt Sophia’s attention and glanced at her. “What is it?”

  Sophia narrowed her eyes. “You’re hiding something. And so is that one.” She motioned toward Dylan.

  Anthony frowned. “I have no idea why you would suggest such a thing. What on earth would we have to hide? Well,” he amended, “other than the fact that we are investigating a murder in secret.”

  Sophia studied him still. “Yes. You are investigating.”

  He laughed. “I see no issue with seeking to aid a friend.”

  She raised a single brow, but remained silent, and for one brief moment, he wondered if she would see straight through his attempted subterfuge. He wasn’t prepared to explain everything to her, not yet. If he were to tell her exactly what they faced, she might behave differently, say something to the wrong person entirely in innocence . . . It simply wasn’t worth the risk. Before long, he hoped, the matter would be solved and settled. Perhaps then he might stand a chance of winning Sophia’s heart. If she hadn’t coerced him into finding her a different man to adore by then.

  Chapter 13

  Sophia awoke the next morning with the sun and felt surprisingly refreshed. After the discomfort of the long voyage, her first day in India had been frenetic from the moment she’d stepped from the carriage. She’d been tired upon arrival, the costume ball had been eventful, and then she and Rachael had hardly slept that night. Yesterday she’d found herself constantly moving to avoid falling asleep.

  Feeling much more herself, she looked forward to the day. She and Rachael had
spoken briefly the night before upon their return from the river and decided to spend as much time as possible with Amala Ayah and Charlie. The answers to their questions lay somewhere within the child, and any hope of finding them was predicated on earning Charlie’s trust.

  Breakfast was a casual affair, much as at home, with food placed on sideboards as a buffet. Sophia finished eating before Rachael made her way down. She left the dining room and went onto the wide verandah that spanned the length of the mansion on the back side. The large space functioned as another room all its own, and from what Lady Pilkington had said, was often the only place to find even a modicum of relief when the hot weather settled in. The Pilkingtons and their attending servants traveled north into the hills to wait out the worst of the summer months, but until that time, the verandah became a gathering place.

  It was screened to keep out bugs and snakes, and there were two large fans suspended from the high ceiling. The fans were attached to ropes that servants pulled on to provide comfort from the heat. Sophia had stopped counting the number of times she was forced to hold her tongue. She couldn’t help but feel compassion for the servants who worked in the heat to provide comfort for their employers. They were paid, it was true, but not well. The arrogance Sophia heard from more than one quarter reminded her painfully of her own time spent serving her “betters.” She didn’t suppose her feelings would ever quite go away, and she wasn’t certain she wished them to. Heaven help her if she ever treated another person the way she had been treated herself.

  She settled comfortably in a chair on the verandah, waiting for Rachael and the children with their nannies and ayahs. They were bound for adventure to a site of ancient ­temple ­ruins a short one-mile distance from the Residency. She picked up one of the local English gossip sheets placed on the coffee table and scanned it, smiling in spite of herself. The paper described the same sorts of things she read about in London: clothing, courtships, balls, parties, and more about clothing.

  She glanced up at movement in her periphery to see Rachael and the two Misses Denney, the younger of whom was speaking earnestly. “I have told Papa repeatedly that neither Beatrice nor I wish to return to England again, but he refuses to hear it.”

  Sophia stood and smiled at the threesome. “Won’t you join me here, ladies?” With some luck, perhaps one of the sisters would remember something about Captain Miller from the costume party.

  The two sisters exchanged pleasantries with Sophia and sat in a small wicker sofa. Rachael sat next to Sophia.

  “I met Miss Denney and Miss Charity Denney yesterday afternoon,” Rachael said to Sophia. “Miss Denney is quite accomplished in watercolors.”

  “You’re too kind,” Beatrice, the elder sister, murmured.

  Rachael smiled. “I beg to differ, in that I am most certainly not offering platitudes about your artwork. It is extraordinary.”

  Beatrice Denney blushed and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She smiled, though, and that was something to celebrate. Sophia had developed a soft spot in her heart for the girl, perhaps because she knew Beatrice didn’t live up to her father’s expectations. She wasn’t comfortable in large groups of people and seemed anxious around gentlemen. If Beatrice couldn’t land herself a good husband, Mr. Denney was not likely to be pleasant about it, and Sophia was defensive on the girl’s behalf.

  “She is very talented, but also modest.” Charity gave her sister’s hand a squeeze, an act that raised Sophia’s estimation of her. Charity was vivacious and pretty, and she had an easy manner with people. Sophia liked her better knowing she loved her sister enough to act as an intermediary.

  “I should love to see your work,” Sophia told Beatrice. “If you would be comfortable sharing, of course.”

  Rachael smiled. “She didn’t have much choice with me, I’m afraid. I spied her as she worked under the shade tree outside my bedchamber window. I opened it to feel the fresh air, and there she was.”

  Beatrice blushed yet again, and Sophia’s heart ached a little more for her. The world was not always a kind place to the gentle. “Beatrice, have you ever painted the ­temple ­ruins close by? Rachael and I are accompanying some of the children on a picnic today. Is it as spectacular as I’ve been told?”

  A sparkle lit Beatrice’s eyes. “Mama used to take us to the ­ruins at least once a week when we were small. It was there I began painting true-life scenes.”

  “Beatrice’s portfolio is full of beautiful paintings of the ­ruins,” Charity added enthusiastically. “The orchids are an absolute explosion of color—they are everywhere! There are so many things to see there, and I daresay through the years we’ve combed every inch. There is one large building still mostly intact, but trees have grown up and around and through it so they appear to be part of the building itself. It is very dark inside, and creatures of all sorts roam through its halls, or so we’ve been told.”

  “It sounds remarkable,” Sophia said.

  Charity’s energy dimmed slightly. “Papa put a stop to our adventures when Beatrice turned fifteen. He said we were too old for romping around.” She lifted her shoulder. “I would never admit it to anyone else, but I would still dearly love to go romping around the ­ruins and gather a bouquet of orchids for our mother—she likes the bright yellow and orange ones the best.” She gave a small laugh. “All this talk of running about like a child—it is quite gauche of me, I know.”

  Sophia laughed. “Not at all, Miss Charity. A lady should never be too old to enjoy such a worthy pastime. In fact, you should join us today.”

  “Thank you for the invitation,” Beatrice said. “My sister and I would love to join you. I hope you don’t mind if Charity appoints herself your tour guide for the day.”

  “Indeed, Miss Elliot,” Charity said. “India has much to recommend it, especially this time of year. And the gentlemen are so very attentive. The two of you shall make the most splendid of matches! Did you know that there are multiple Englishmen for every Englishwoman in British India? You’ll forgive me for making reference to gambling, but the odds for women are ever so much better here than in England.”

  Sophia wondered how she could ask Charity why she and her sister weren’t married yet, given such excellent odds. In the end, she didn’t have to.

  “As I was telling Miss Scarsdale before we found you here, Miss Sophia, I beg Papa continually to allow Beatrice and me to remain here. We spent a few years in England for school, but it was his home, not ours. We missed everyone here dreadfully, most especially Mama and our ayah. After we returned home from our last holiday, we prevailed upon him to allow us to remain here rather than go back to England. Even Mama aided our cause. He relented, but he still insisted we have a Season last year, and he intends to send us off again this year. We’ve been home for such a short time! We have spent more time aboard ship than on solid land over the last two years.”

  Beatrice grimaced. “Traveling by ship is wretched. We both get so very ill. I believe Papa’s agreement to suspend schooling in England came in part because of our condition when we returned last. I’m afraid we looked and felt quite pathetic. Risking life and limb for a successful Season, however, he sees as another matter entirely.”

  Sophia nodded in sympathy. The ocean crossing was indeed wretched, and she’d had the best benefits money could buy. Her ship was large, the accommodations plentiful, including enough fresh water for both bathing and laundering clothes, which was nearly unheard of. Most Fishing Fleet voyages were a veritable hell on earth. A fairly small ship to carry hundreds of people, inadequate bathing accommodations, no fresh water available to launder clothing, live animals to be slaughtered for food, rotting food as the journey continued, which prompted stomach ailments . . . Include the pitching and rolling of the ship on stormy seas and she knew that many people questioned their own sanity for embarking into such madness.

  “Yet now he wishes for us to return.” Charity frowned. “I
am quite prepared to run away.”

  Beatrice glanced at her sister with irritated affection. “You shall not run away, Charity. Where would you go?”

  Charity grinned. “I shall run to the jungle and live with the animals.”

  Beatrice laughed, then, and the sound was delightful. It quite transformed her, and Sophia watched the young woman with a smile of her own. “You do not like the animals at all; they frighten you witless. A silly sight you would be, trying to live among the tigers and snakes and screaming each time you encounter one.”

  Charity laughed with her sister, but sobered gradually. “Would it be so much worse than having to brave the Bay of Biscay again?”

  Sophia shuddered at that notion and shook her head in agreement.

  Rachael viewed the other young women with sympathy in her clear, blue eyes. “Perhaps your father will yet change his mind. After all, if he wishes you to wed, surely this is a good place to accomplish it.”

  Beatrice shrugged and answered quietly, “Truthfully, we both could have been married here several times over. Papa has always regretted the necessity of leaving England, and he wants the two of us to find gentlemen who are not destined to remain here with their careers for a lifetime. He does not care for India at all, but we—” She glanced at Charity. “Mama loves it, and we were born and raised here. It is very much home to us. England feels foreign and cold.”

  “And wet,” Charity added. “Monsoon season here is intolerable, yes, but it eventually ends. England is gray and dreary all the time.”

  Beatrice glanced at her sister with a wry smile and nudged her arm. “Not all the time. It just isn’t . . . home. Not to us. We certainly mean no offense.”