Sophia’s mouth dropped open. “That is . . . that is . . .” She heard herself sputtering and closed her mouth. She pictured her mother, draped in dishonorable white and sitting unloved in a filthy doorway. There was a time when she herself had lived in abject poverty with her mother, but even that had been a far cry from the scene before her. Her eyes stung, and she shook her head lightly to pull away from the image. “That is one of the most awful things I have ever heard.”
Beatrice nodded in sympathy.
Sophia stopped walking, and Rachael paused with her, her eyes a mirror of Sophia’s own distress. “Can we do something? Do we have anything to give her?” She thought of all the beautiful fabric she’d had carted back to the carriage and wondered if something there might be of use to the old woman.
Rachael cleared her throat and reached into her reticule. “I have a small piece of bread left from luncheon that I thought to feed to the birds back at the Residency with the twins.” She shrugged. “Do you suppose?”
“I don’t know that she can accept it from us,” Dylan said gently as he joined them, clearly having overheard the conversation. “Remember how strict the rules are among the servants at the Residency? Certain sects and castes are not allowed to share food with foreigners. We are lower on the rung than Untouchables.”
Sophia glanced around. “Perhaps Abdullah can take it to her?”
By now, some of the rest of their group had gathered, wondering aloud about the delay. Rachael explained Sophia’s request, and one of the plantation owners, Mr. Griffen, a quiet man who had lived in India for twenty years, looked on with sympathy. “There is so much poverty here, feeding one woman is but a drop in a bucket riddled with holes.”
Sophia straightened. “For a short time, it will mean something for that one woman.” She motioned to Abdullah and explained her errand. He glanced at the widow and hesitated.
Sophia wondered if he were concerned about the old woman’s bad luck spreading to him. She fought back instinctive impatience and tried not to marvel at the fact that they had stopped in the middle of a street to debate how best to show kindness to a starving old woman.
“Abdullah,” she said, “if you should feel unclean from contact with the woman, from communicating with her, is there a ritual you can perform later to remedy the problem?”
He looked as though he would dissemble for a moment but finally nodded. “Yes, miss.” His face was a study in genuine distress that was such a dramatic departure from his usual affect that Sophia felt a stab of compassion for the young man.
“Perhaps you will consent to do this thing, then,” she said gently. She reached into her reticule and pulled out a handful of coins, which she then knotted into a handkerchief and handed to him. “Please give her this also.”
He nodded, and Rachael handed him the wrapped remainder of her lunch. He took both offerings to the old woman, crouching down next to her and speaking a few words in a tongue she must have understood. He set the food and coins next to her on the step and left her alone.
Sophia was lost in thought as the group traveled back to the Residency, largely sober. She nodded rather absently when they reached the mansion and Anthony helped her from the carriage, telling her he’d have her packages sent to her room.
He caught her arm as she moved away. “Sophia, are you not feeling well?”
She shrugged and looked at the huge mansion that glistened in the waning sun. “Does it not seem rather futile, at times? Mr. Griffen is correct: one small gesture of kindness cannot fix things.”
His thumb rubbed slowly against her arm, and she finally looked at him. “A gesture of kindness is never wasted. Ever.”
She nodded, consumed with her thoughts and unable chastise him for again being too familiar. The poor widow deserved dignity, respect, a warm bed, and a full stomach. How many more were there like her in the city? In the country? In the world? It was too much, and she was overwhelmed.
“I shall meet you in the foyer before we depart for the Club,” Anthony said.
She exhaled a sigh, feeling foolish and ridiculously like a woman of privilege. “What is it, exactly?” They moved aside as more people exited the carriages.
“There are British clubs all over the country called, originally enough, ‘The Club.’ It is simply a gathering place to game, dance, dine together—just what you might imagine a place with that name to be.”
Sophia nodded and turned when Rachael appeared at her side. She told Anthony she would meet him in the foyer and then walked with Rachael to their rooms inside the house. Rachael seemed as preoccupied as she was, likely still thinking about the widow.
Briggs bounced in front of Sophia as she entered her bedroom and thrust a plain box at her. “Miss Sophia, a gift arrived for you earlier!”
Sophia’s brow knit. “Who sent me a gift?”
“I do not know, only that it was sitting outside the door and it bears your name. See just here?”
Sophia opened the plain seal on a folded piece of paper and held it up to read.
Leave the boy alone.
Sophia’s heart thudded once, hard, and then began to race.
“What on earth?” Briggs took the strange note from Sophia.
Sophia pried open the gift box with fingers that trembled, and she stared, horrified, at a little wooden horse that had been cut cleanly in two.
“Oh!” she cried and sank into a chair. Her stomach clenched, and she felt decidedly ill. “Who would do this to Charlie’s favorite toy? Does he even know it is missing?”
Briggs stared at the toy with wide eyes, then her gaze darted to Sophia. “Is the boy in danger, miss? Are you?”
“He cannot see the horse like this. I must tell Amala to distract him until I know what to do.” Sophia placed shaking fingers on her forehead. They were cold. “We will fix it. It is a clean enough cut. Somehow we will repair it.”
She stood and took the note from Briggs’ hand.
“Are you still going out, miss?”
Sophia nodded, feeling a surge of anger and welcoming it. “This is unacceptable.” She slapped the lid back on the box and took it, with the note, to Rachael’s room.
“I will not be cowed, and I will not hide,” she said as soon as Rachael answered her knock.
“Sophia?”
Sophia thrust the box at her friend as she entered the room. “Do a favor for me, will you, and deliver this to your cousin? I cannot go knocking on his bedchamber door without causing a ruckus.”
Rachael stared at her and then opened the box and read the note, a horrified gasp following. “I shall take it to him immediately. The Pilkingtons must be made aware. Perhaps Dylan can assign a pair of his men to guard the nursery.” She paused. “What of your safety? Should we remain here this evening?”
Sophia’s nostrils flared. “I do not answer to cowards who prey on children.”
Rachael closed the letter inside the box. She stepped around Sophia to the door. “I’ll deliver this to Dylan now, and ask that he tell Lord Wilshire. Surely he will want to be advised.”
“Thank you.” Sophia fumed as she returned to her room, and her heart beat a steady thrum she knew was a testament to the undercurrent of fear that threaded beneath her anger. If it guaranteed Charlie’s safety, she would stay away from the nursery for the moment. Her determination to resolve the matter, to solve the mystery of Charlie’s fear, however, had leaped to the forefront with a vengeance.
Chapter 17
Pierre straightened Anthony’s cravat with a nod of satisfaction. “C’est magnifique.”
Anthony rotated his head to one side and the other, bumping up against the stiff points of his collar and causing Pierre to emit sounds of distress. “I am wound up like a spring, Pierre. I do not wish to smile and talk and laugh and serve young ladies punch from the refreshment table.”
“What do you wan
t to do, then? There was a time when you would have given anything for such to be the entirety of your tasks.”
What do I want to do? He knew very well the answer to that question. He also knew he couldn’t do it. A knock on the door saved him from a perfunctory response and Pierre’s all-knowing, all-seeing eye. “Likely Himmat, informing us that the carriages are ready.”
Pierre shot him a glance that suggested he recognized Anthony’s prevarication for what it was, but answered the door. “Major Stuart?”
Anthony turned to see Dylan at the door, his face like a thundercloud. “What is it?”
Dylan entered and thrust a piece of paper at him.
Leave the boy alone.
Anthony looked up. “When did you receive this?”
“I did not receive it. Sophia did. With this.” In his other hand, Dylan held a box containing a small wooden horse that had been severed in two.
An angry heat started deep in Anthony’s gut and rose until he felt he would choke on it. “When?”
Dylan paced back to the door. “Just now. It was packaged and in her room waiting for her. She told Rachael, who found me.” He paused. “Anthony, I do not like her or Rachael remaining in the dark any longer. Forewarned is forearmed, and they may need to defend themselves. They must be vigilant. I do not mean to force your hand, but that”—he pointed at the broken toy and letter—“is a thinly veiled threat. Sophia is beside herself over how Charlie will react to the destruction of his favorite toy, but you and I both know that this will be the least of her problems if she continues to interfere. Not to mention the fact that there is much more to this mess than one missing sea captain. Whoever is behind this has much to lose.”
Anthony exhaled. “What Sophia knows, I would not ask her to keep from Rachael. I hope you’re prepared for questions.”
“Questions are fine.” Dylan opened the door. “Wondering how they’ll respond when I tell them I think they should go back to England immediately has me worried.”
The door closed behind Dylan, and Anthony’s heart sank at the thought of Sophia leaving India. The present danger to her would likely dissipate if she left, would it not? The person who wanted her to stop seeking answers from Charlie was presumably the same person who killed Miller and stole the Janus Document. If Sophia were no longer in India, the person who threatened her would have no further reason to continue.
It was a sound plan, and he resigned himself to the notion that she needed to go home, and likely Rachael, as well. Dylan’s concern was justified; Rachael was embroiled in the drama as much as Sophia was. And hovering at the back of his mind was the suspicion he’d been harboring that someone at the War Department had been behind the theft in the first place—that person wasn’t Harold Miller. Which meant that if Anthony couldn’t get his hands on the document, everyone was still in danger, even at home. Perhaps it was time to enlist Dylan in a more direct capacity and search each room in the mansion. He had frustratingly few other leads or options.
Pierre shot Anthony a look of uncharacteristic sympathy as Anthony exited the room and made his way through the mansion toward the front door. He forced himself to relax, unclenching his jaw before it could show signs of stress. Several of the guests, the Pilkingtons included, gathered in the atrium and for a fleeting moment, he imagined taking Lord Pilkington by the cravat and shoving him up against the nearest wall until he told him whatever he knew about Miller’s disappearance. There must have been something the man had missed, something he knew. Who would have been in a position to discover the combination to the lock on his safe? Who had Miller been seen talking to in the days before his death?
Dylan was already among the gathered guests, and he subtly inched closer to the Pilkingtons until he was upon them and they couldn’t scuttle away. Anthony smiled in spite of his foul mood. Dylan was clever.
Lady Pilkington spied Anthony, and her face lit up. He swallowed a groan when she motioned to him. She was overcompensating for the fact that her nerves were raw and the household was strangely off-kilter. Events surrounding them were beyond her control, and she was twice as ardent in every emotion as before. Stuart was keeping Lord Pilkington occupied with conversation that had the man looking slightly ill, but he wasn’t able to keep the wife corralled, so Anthony followed the summons dutifully.
“Lord Wilshire, three of my closest friends arrived from their yearlong tour of Europe and Asia earlier this week and they are going to the Club with us! I think you may know them!” She reached behind herself and pulled on an arm that was attached to a woman Anthony did indeed recognize. She was Maria Vale, Lady Seadon, and the younger sister of a friend of his late mother’s.
And of course, he mused as Lady Seadon motioned across the room, she had brought her daughter and niece.
He felt cold all over and tightened his lips at the conundrum his life had become. Alissandra Vale—Lissa—had pursued him more after his immediate return from the war than he would have imagined any one person could. She’d tried on multiple occasions to be accidently “caught” alone with him, which would have forced his hand and landed her the role of Countess Wilshire. He had never encouraged her, had never even offered a whisper of a suggestion he was interested either in an association with her or in finding a wife in general. His cover “reputation” as a rake, however, had preceded him home, and since his father had been on his deathbed and Anthony’s ascension to the title imminent, tongues wagged that he must soon find a mother for his future heirs.
And now here she was—and wonderful!—here Sophia was, entering the atrium with Rachael and the Denney sisters.
“Anthony.” Lissa smiled, and the sight brought to Anthony’s mind the image of a cunning feline. She had black hair and enormous blue eyes. Perfect in face and form, she was well aware of her assets and used them to full advantage. He felt not a stirring of interest for her, but rather a sense of worry that Sophia might witness something she would misunderstand.
“Lord Wilshire,” he corrected quietly and bowed over her gloved hand, intentionally withholding a perfunctory kiss.
Her brows drew together in a tiny frown that she quickly smoothed over. “Of course you remember my cousin, Miss Adeline Vale?”
Cousin Adeline was a nice girl, but cast forever in the shadow of her intense relative. Adeline was “obliged to live on the family’s charity,” Lissa had informed him once with a sad but kindly smile.
Adeline smiled, self-consciously tucking a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear. She really was lovely, with curls any girl would envy and vivid green eyes, and Anthony felt a stab of pity that her circumstances placed her in such an unpleasant and vulnerable position. Lissa’s tongue was vicious, and she ruthlessly flayed anything she viewed as competition. He imagined Adeline had been firmly shoved into place from the moment she found herself living on her family’s charity.
He smiled at Adeline and bowed over her hand as well, deliberately placing a light kiss on her gloved fingers.
Lady Pilkington gestured to Sophia and the other women, and when they approached, Anthony smiled at Sophia and moved closer to her until his sleeve brushed hers. Lissa glanced at them, and he caught the fractional narrowing of her eyes. His fingers itched to grasp Sophia’s shoulders and pull her from the room. Lissa would most definitely see the beautiful Sophia as her fiercest competition yet. He realized too late he’d have done Sophia a favor had he stayed away from her.
“Miss Sophia Elliot, sister to the current Earl Stansworth.” Lady Pilkington introduced Sophia grandly with evident pride.
Lissa smiled and curtseyed, as did Sophia, and Anthony felt a sinking sensation in his gut when Lissa eyed Sophia with one arched brow.
“Of course! We were never properly introduced in London. Lady Pilkington, I vow, is it not beyond imagining to look at Miss Elliot now and realize she was once a maid?”
The air around them stiffened, and Anthony wanted to
throttle the girl. Before anyone could form a response, she opened her blue eyes wide and feigned innocence. “Oh, I certainly mean no disrespect! Dear me, I do tend to say the wrong thing at times.”
“It might be well worth your consideration, then, to give some thought to your words before you open your mouth.” Sophia’s lips twitched at the corners, offering the barest of smiles that was little more than an insult.
“Oh, indeed! You are privy to advice on all things polite and proper. I forget, your sister-in-law is the famed Mistress Manners. What a delightful and refreshing vocation. That she worked for a publication and was paid to do it—why she quite nearly set the ton on its ear when her identity became known.”
Anthony took a deep breath and braced himself as Sophia straightened slightly.
Lady Pilkington laughed loudly and shrilly, cutting off any further exchange between the two. “So delightful it is to meet acquaintances when one least expects it. Ah, excellent—the carriages have arrived out front.” She shot a guarded glance at Lissa, who had fixed her eyes on Anthony.
He turned and reached for Sophia’s hand. She glanced at him in surprise, likely shocked at the presumption, but he was taking no unnecessary risks. He would keep her glued to his side until they saw the last of Lady Lissa. He didn’t trust her any more than he would a viper.
He lifted Sophia’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm and placed his other hand atop it. When she pulled slightly back, he muttered, “Stay with me.”
“Ah. You need a friend to waylay unwanted attention?” She focused straight ahead as they walked through the foyer and out the large double doors to the waiting carriages.
The Secret of the India Orchid Page 14
