The Secret of the India Orchid

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  Beatrice smiled at Sophia. “I thank you for your advice and your friendship. I do not have many friends—”

  “—any friends,” Charity murmured.

  “But,” Beatrice continued with a glare at her sister, “I am so grateful to know you. I do hope your visit will extend at least until the warm weather is upon us.” She laughed. “‘Warm’ understates it, of course.”

  “I do hope so as well.” Sophia smiled and wondered if Beatrice would care for a hug. Sophia didn’t give them out freely—Ivy was truly the only friend she embraced—and with anyone other than family, she always found it awkward.

  Beatrice leaned forward slightly and pulled back, as did Sophia, and in the end they simply squeezed hands again. “You will keep me abreast of your comings and goings with this?” Sophia hoped desperately that Mr. Darzi was a man of integrity, for he could do no better than Beatrice Denney.

  Beatrice nodded and smiled, a little lift to her shoulders betraying her excitement.

  “Miss Sophia?” Charity said. “I have heard that Major Stuart is officially investigating Captain Miller’s disappearance. Is it true? I wish I had information to share. He is incredibly handsome.”

  Sophia laughed. “That he is.”

  “But perhaps you will be able to help Charlie, Miss Sophia,” Charity said, head tipped to the side. “Himmat told Abdullah, who told our butler, Ashmel, that Charlie has been most distraught since the captain’s disappearance. He seemed to enjoy your company yesterday at the ­ruins, though. He seemed very comfortable with you. I must say, it is singular a lady of your consequence would take an interest in children. It isn’t done, you know.”

  Sophia smiled wryly. “I know. Much of what I do ‘isn’t done.’”

  “Oh, but it is so refreshing! You encourage me to imagine I might be myself and not feel ashamed that I enjoy dancing in the ­ruins.” Charity stood and pulled her sister’s hand. “We should find Papa so he doesn’t think we’re being inappropriate somewhere. Will you join us again on the verandah, Sophia?”

  “Yes, absolutely. I believe I shall sit here and admire the stars for a moment and then I shall rejoin you.”

  The young women left, and Sophia turned her gaze to the shimmering world of silver beyond the window, feeling heavy-hearted. She leaned her shoulder against the glass, touching her head to it, and closed her eyes. Little, adorable Charlie was frightened, literally beyond words, by something; gentle, wonderful Amala Ayah was worried sick about him; Beatrice Denney was being pursued by a powerful man who may or may not care for her; Charity Denney would likely find herself shuttled back to England with or without Beatrice; Sophia herself was beginning to doubt whether they would ever know what had happened to Captain Miller; and she didn’t know if the man she loved would ever admit he wanted more from her than sisterly affection.

  “Now that is the picture of a very weary woman.” The voice was soft, low, and came from the shadows. She recognized it instantly and wondered how long Anthony had been standing there.

  “How much did you overhear?” She remained leaning against the window, eyes still closed.

  “All of it. I was here when you arrived.”

  “And you didn’t think to make your presence known? Not gentlemanly of you at all, my lord.”

  “I am accustomed to fading into the shadows.”

  She opened her eyes and slowly straightened. “That sounds not only cryptic, but melodramatic.”

  He made his way toward her, hands in his pockets. “Sound advice you gave to Miss Denney just now.”

  Sophia shook her head. “I do not trust her suitor.”

  “I believe she would be safe with him. I believe he is genuine.”

  “Do you know more than you’ve implied?”

  He smiled. “I always know more than I’ve implied.”

  “Except what fate befell Captain Miller.”

  He acknowledged that with a quirk of his head and a raised brow. “Except that.”

  “I must continue to work with Charlie. The world will eat that little boy alive, Anthony.”

  “Not if he has you for a champion.”

  He looked at her for a long time, and she suddenly felt very warm. He hadn’t moved closer, hadn’t moved an inch at all, but he was suddenly very much more there.

  She stood. “My reputation will be in shreds if I am found alone with you.”

  “With anyone, or just with me?”

  “Cryptic and brooding.” She meant to sound light, but the end result was rather more breathless.

  He nodded toward the atrium entrance. “Go. I shall follow at an appropriate distance.”

  She walked toward the entrance, forced herself to keep moving forward. What would he do if she went to him, stood before him, wrapped her arms around him, and simply held him? Would he take his hands from his pockets and hold her close? Would he finally kiss her? Or would he set her firmly away from him and tell her what a good friend she was?

  Would she be ­ruined?

  Only if discovered . . .

  She gave a light shake of her head and kept moving forward. As she made her way through the front hall and back toward the drawing room and verandah, she tried to console herself with the fact that she hadn’t thrown herself at him. Perhaps, she hadn’t bolted at the first sound of his voice as a proper lady would have done, but she wasn’t there with him now, when she had never in her life wanted something more desperately.

  She massaged her temple with her fingers and stood just outside the drawing room. Inside were dear friends, a well-meaning sponsor, and several lovely new acquaintances. It was a group in which she knew her presence was warmly welcomed, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to go back in.

  Instead, she turned and wound her way to the back of the mansion to the servants’ staircase and headed up to the third floor. She hovered outside the nursery, wanting to enter and kiss Ruth’s soft cheeks, wanting to sit next to Charlie’s little bed and hold his hand and tell him everything would be fine. In the end, she did neither, knowing waking the children would serve only her interests, not theirs. She turned and made her way back down to the second floor and entered her bedchamber. Her lady’s maid sat reading near the unlit hearth, a lamp at her elbow.

  Briggs looked up with a start. “Miss Sophia, I wasn’t expecting you!”

  “Briggs, you look tired, and I am exhausted. Help me out of this dress and then you go to bed, too. I’m finished for the evening.”

  “Are you well, miss?”

  Sophia nodded and sat at the vanity, pulling jewelry from her fingers and wrists and unfastening a strand of pearls from her neck. Briggs began dismantling her coiffure and released multiple pins, allowing the curls to fall down her back. Sophia ran her hands through the heavy mass with a sigh, massaging her scalp.

  Briggs met her eye in the mirror and frowned. “You’re certain you’re well?”

  “Briggs, are you happy?”

  “Miss?”

  “Do you have heavy problems? Anything worrisome on your mind?”

  “Nothing aside from life’s usual worries, I suppose, miss. You’re so good to me, and I’ve never been happier in a post in my life. I am here in a different land, I get on well with the other servants, and I am even learning some Hindi.” The young woman smiled. “Nothing so worrisome I lose sleep at night.”

  Sophia’s shoulders sagged. “That is indeed a relief. I am glad to hear it.”

  “Miss Sophia, ’tis certainly not my place, but you are not quite yourself this evening.”

  “Many good people bear heavy burdens, Briggs, and I suppose I want to shoulder them all. Or rather, that I feel I should. Or could.” She shook her head at the nonsense. “I am merely tired. You go to bed, and we shall arise fresh tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow evening is the ball at the Club. Do we have something special planned for the d
ay?”

  “A trip to the bazaar, I believe, where I plan to purchase a special toy for a special little boy, whose burdens are much too heavy for his small shoulders.”

  Chapter 16

  Downtown Bombay was a cacophony of sights, sounds, and smells that overwhelmed and delighted Sophia. There were textiles, flowers, and spices spilling out of enormous bags propped just outside shop doorways and underneath awnings ranging in color from red, orange, blue, purple, and yellow. Enormous fruits and vegetables warred with trinkets for vendor space down crowded streets and alleyways.

  And people! There were more people than she’d ever seen in one place at one time together. Women in saris of the richest blues, greens, reds, oranges, and yellows shopped and worked alongside the men, who wore the more understated attire of a white tunic shirt and loose-fitting white linen trousers. Men wore turbans, and women wore beautiful veils and head scarves—some translucent, others opaque silk edged in intricate beadwork.

  Hands were beautifully decorated with henna, certain symbols on foreheads signified one’s caste, religion, or the god one worshipped. Music played on strange-sounding flutes, and a woman danced with beautifully flowing veils. Children laughed and darted from one stall to the next, some well-dressed, others in rags. Big, brown eyes, dark hair, white teeth, most laughing—the children were like children anywhere. They wanted to be happy and fed. They instinctively sought out joy.

  Sophia stood at one of the many tents in the bazaar and ran her hand along several colorful stacks of fabric and wished she might have a sari made from each one. She would wear the light clothing, and sandals like the natives wore, and she would adorn her wrists with multiple bangles that would clink lightly together with each movement of her arm, just like Amala’s.

  Theirs was a rather large group. Much like the day before at the ­ruins, word had spread that a party was forming to make a foray into the city for shopping and sightseeing, and three conveyances quickly became four, and then five. Sophia and Rachael had sent word to the Denneys’ bungalow, and the girls were permitted to accept the invitation. Several other members of the Fleet joined the group, as did a few local bachelors who owned tea and dye plantations nearby and never missed an opportunity to spend time with unattached women. Sophia wasn’t as familiar with them, but they seemed amiable enough. Professor Gerald had wished to join the group but had other obligations at the university. Sophia took note that Rachael seemed disappointed by that news.

  The gentlemen present became makeshift mules until packages could be handed off to accompanying servants who shuttled purchases back to the carriages. They were good-­natured about the whole business, and even Anthony carried a few items Sophia had picked up along the way.

  “Thank you ever so much,” she said to Anthony with a smile as she handed over another length of fabric for him to hold. This bundle contained three yards of red cotton with rows of appliqued elephants along the edges. “Abdullah will return momentarily, I’m certain.”

  Abdullah was a boy in his later teens and a servant in the Pilkington household. His uncle was Himmat, and his aunt worked in the kitchens. He smiled and laughed often, and Sophia suspected he worked very hard to contain his gregarious nature. His eyes often twinkled, and she could easily imagine him executing a very effective wink. Quiet, humble servitude simply did not seem to sit well on his shoulders. The more time she spent in his presence, the better she liked him. He would rise in the ranks of British servitude, if he chose that path, but she imagined his sights were set upon bigger things.

  “What are your plans for this cloth?” Anthony asked.

  “I’ve no idea yet, but it’s certain to be spectacular.”

  He dropped his voice to a murmur. “How fares our young friend today?”

  Sophia glanced down the crowded street at Amala Ayah, who held Charlie’s hand firmly as she pointed at something on one of the tables. She knelt next to him with a smile and spoke to him, but as Charlie’s back was to her, Sophia didn’t see his response.

  “No worse than before, thankfully. Amala did tell me that Charlie cried out in his sleep last night and mumbled something that she couldn’t quite decipher. I see the strain in Amala’s face and feel quite helpless. It seems there is so little to be done.”

  Anthony nodded. “We may have to accept the fact that he won’t ever discuss it.”

  Sophia’s brow wrinkled, and she moved forward to a large yellow awning that covered a table full of carved toys. “I’ve considered writing Jack a request to continue his acquaintance with the Pilkingtons so that when it comes time for Charlie to attend school, if he is still struggling with this”—she waved her hand, encompassing the area around them—“they might be amenable to allowing us to sponsor him. He could live at one of the estates with Amala, if she cared to join him, and we could hire a tutor.”

  She felt his gaze and looked up at him, silently daring him to find fault with her plan. Sophia could be stubborn, and on this issue she was not prepared to give an inch.

  “Supposing the Pilkingtons do not agree?”

  She felt her shoulders sag despite her resolve. “That will be the one hurdle, I suppose. However,” she said, shifting closer to Anthony and lowering her voice, “when faced with the option that he will be labeled mentally unstable, would they not rather have him with us than institutionalized?”

  He inclined his head as though ceding the point. “One can hope.” He lifted the corner of his mouth in a smile. “You have a remarkably generous heart.” He cupped her arm, his fingers trailing softly along her skin where her lightweight shawl draped away in a scoop.

  She swallowed and stepped back. “Lord Wilshire, friends do not take such intimate liberties.”

  Frustration crossed his features, and for the first time, he didn’t bother to mask it or quickly shrug it off. It was quite possibly the most real emotion, the most authentic reaction he’d made and sustained, since her arrival. A muscle moved in his jaw. He looked at her but said nothing. She was rooted to the spot, felt pinned there, and she waited for him to speak, to admit he was playing a ridiculous game that she didn’t understand. She refused to be the first to break the silence; she willed him to respond.

  He took a breath and looked away, running his free hand through his hair. He closed his eyes briefly and muttered something she didn’t hear. She wanted to cross the distance between them and grasp his lapels. She wanted to shake him and yell and tell him how much his desertion had devastated her. How she had missed him so much it was a physical ache in her chest.

  “Look at me,” she said quietly, and was fairly surprised when he did. “I do not understand what you are about.”

  He inhaled and exhaled slowly. “That would make two of us.”

  “Miss Sophia!” Charity entered the space under the awning and arrived at Sophia’s side, her usual ebullient spring in her step. “Have you found a toy, then?”

  Sophia blinked. A toy?

  “My favorite fruit vendor, Mr. Ahmahd, says this is the best toy shop of them all.”

  Sophia placed a hand on her midsection and drew a deep breath, trying to pull herself from the befuddled haze Anthony seemed to have wrapped them in. “Yes, I am just now reviewing this selection of toys.” She managed a smile at Charity. “What do you think?”

  Charity clasped her hands together as she perused the table before them. “Oh, there are so many! And look!” She lifted a carved elephant that had been painted in bright colors. It had a howdah on its back, mirroring the enormous saddles that were used to transport people and cargo. Within the howdah were six carved figurines: five humans and one little monkey. The figurines contained articulated arms and legs that could move, bend, and sit on the tiny benches within the saddle.

  Charity grinned and carefully lifted one of the ladies from the elephant’s back. “They are likely off on an adventure in the jungle, wouldn’t you say?”

 
Sophia smiled. “I would say so, yes. And I think you have found the perfect toy for Charlie. I shall also purchase one for my niece, Catherine.”

  Charity beamed. “Charlie will adore it. Perhaps it will help him find his voice again.”

  Sophia gave Charity’s hand a squeeze. “Perhaps it will.” Sophia took two of the elaborate toys and made the purchase, watching as the shopkeeper wrapped the pieces in tissue paper. His face was wreathed in wrinkles that were pronounced when he extended the package to Sophia with a smile. His gnarled hands had seen years of work. She placed her palms together and touched her thumbs to her forehead with a light bow and, when she took the bundle from him, he responded in kind.

  She turned to leave, altogether too aware of Anthony, who still stood nearby, watching her but saying nothing. He kept pace with her as she stepped away from the awning and extended his hand for the package. She thought of being churlish and retaining it, but decided that would be silly and she’d had enough game-playing to last a lifetime. The worst part was that she did not know what game she was supposed to play.

  The large group from the Residency spent the next two hours perusing stalls and meandering the streets around the bazaar. Sophia intentionally stayed near Rachael and Dylan, finding it easier to hide her impatience with Anthony while they were in a crowd.

  As they strayed farther from the bazaar, she began to notice signs of poverty unlike anything she’d ever seen before. The tall buildings—tenement housing—were stacked adjacent to one another and whole rows looked ready to fall in a stiff breeze. The stench of filth encroached upon the vibrant dream of the bazaar, and just as at home in London, the line between wealth and poverty was staggering in its harsh division. Children in tatters and rags begged for coins, and an elderly woman dressed in dingy white sat in a doorway, her head bowed in her hands.

  “She is a widow,” Beatrice murmured to Sophia and Rachael as they passed her on their way back to the carriages. “The color system among castes defines a person’s station. Red is the color brides and married women wear, and if a married woman dies before her husband, she is dressed in red. A woman who is widowed, however, must wear white and is considered bad luck. She is often shunned by her family and then buried in white, as well.”