The Secret of the India Orchid

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  Her tears threatened to return. How on earth had she ever believed a word of his fateful letter? He had been giving her signs indicating his interest in her from nearly the beginning of their association. She considered the wretched nature of his duty—of what it had demanded of him—and for the first time felt the stab of hurt and dismay he must have experienced, knowing what was expected of him, what he had to do to her. Even knowing the truth the last few days, she hadn’t examined the issue from his point of view. She hadn’t considered that he had been as much a victim as she had.

  Sophia placed her hand on her heart and smiled. She blinked and a tear fell. She wiped it away with her finger. She would have gone to him, but there were no more seats at his table.

  Charity sighed and laid her head playfully on Sophia’s shoulder, oblivious to the silent communication traveling across a crowded space. “I do believe I hear wedding bells for our dear Miss Scarsdale.”

  “I do believe I also hear those bells.” Sophia rested her head against Charity’s and matched her sigh, which made Charity giggle. “And the professor is so handsome, is he not?”

  Charity fluttered her eyelashes. “Ever so handsome. Come, Sophia, we must retrieve our dinner from the buffet tables.”

  Charity pulled her along, and Sophia took another moment to scan the crowd as they walked. Lissa Seadon had been forced to sit with her mother, cousin, and Lord Braxton, who still made the hair on the back of Sophia’s neck rise. Sophia looked back at Anthony, who raised a champagne flute in her direction. His entire regard was focused completely on her, and for a moment it seemed as if there was nobody else in the courtyard. The corner of his mouth lifted, and he took a sip of the drink.

  Her heart lifted, and she very nearly sighed for herself.

  Charity pulled Sophia over to Beatrice as Taj Darzi approached with the Pilkingtons. The royal cousin bowed, his palms together, thumbs touching his forehead. His attention was clearly aimed at Beatrice, who curtseyed and flushed.

  “Mr. Darzi has asked that you join our table, Miss Denney,” Lord Pilkington said. “If you would?”

  “Of course, I would be honored.” Beatrice smiled and again Sophia was struck by the gentle transformation it made to the girl’s face. “I would ask that my sister and Miss Elliot join us as well?”

  “Most certainly. We would be honored.” Mr. Darzi smiled, the small wrinkles at his eyes crinkling with obvious use. He was tall next to Beatrice, but Sophia could envision the two fitting together, rather like pieces of a puzzle. He carried himself well with a quiet confidence, every inch the royal heir. He complimented Beatrice on her appearance, and she smiled, ducked her head, and thanked him.

  Sophia squeezed Charity’s arm and whispered, “My dear, I do believe Beatrice shall be very much cherished, should she accept Mr. Darzi’s suit.”

  Charity turned her troubled blue eyes to Sophia. “I so wish we could be certain.”

  Sophia smiled. “Does life ever promise guarantees of success?”

  Charity frowned, but lifted a shoulder.

  “Come along, do,” Lady Pilkington called back as they made their way to a reserved table near the arch.

  “Miss Denney,” Sophia said to Beatrice, “would you like your parents to join us at this table?”

  Mr. Darzi awaited Beatrice’s response as he held her chair. Beatrice glanced across the courtyard at her father and looked back at Sophia, her eyes widening in a clear plea. “Oh, no, my father is already settled and our mother is at home tonight. She is feeling ill, I am afraid.”

  “As you wish, Miss Denney,” Mr. Darzi said and tucked Beatrice into her chair. He sat beside her then, and said, “I do hope your mother’s illness is not a serious one.”

  “Nothing some time away from our father wouldn’t cure,” Charity muttered in Sophia’s ear, and then clasped her hand over her mouth.

  “Charity,” Sophia whispered, “does your father hurt your mother?” She was grateful for the light conversation that flowed among the other four diners.

  Charity shook her head. “Not in the manner you suggest.” She frowned. “But he is not kind to her. And she is not strong. Not as you are, or Miss Rachael.”

  Sophia clasped the girl’s fingers. “Or as you are, and Beatrice. The two of you are very strong, and very talented. You must remember this.”

  Charity nodded, solemn. “I shall, Miss Sophia.”

  Mr. Darzi spoke easily with Lord Pilkington, who was all things lively and conversant. The Resident’s air of command was quite at odds with his behavior from the night before. But perhaps, Sophia mused, she was judging him harshly. His son had been missing, after all.

  Sophia made her way through the dinner and observed those around her quietly. Mr. Darzi spoke of a new dawn, of fresh beginnings, of strong alliances between neighbors and friends. He offered suggestions for additional activities between the local populace surrounding the palace and the British citizenry.

  “I must say,” Mr. Darzi said as the group began eating, “that when I learn of the early days of the Company that began more than a century ago, I wish relations were not so different. The two cultures mixed freely, and they did not seem to suffer from the discord we often see now.”

  “Quite right,” Pilkington said and tackled his dinner.

  Sophia glanced between him and the heir-presumptive and felt slightly awkward at the stalling of a pleasant exchange.

  Beatrice lightly cleared her throat. “Mr. Darzi, if I may, I must applaud your intentions and your efforts toward such a noble goal. I find it splendid and inspired.”

  Mr. Darzi beamed at Beatrice. “Do you indeed? Oh, I am so glad. How wonderful to be of a like mind.”

  Lady Pilkington nudged her husband, and he started. “Yes, yes, of course, how right you are, Miss Denney. Very noble goals indeed.”

  “Might we schedule a meeting soon, Lord Pilkington, to exchange ideas? I would bring my aides, of course, and would fully expect to see representatives from the Bombay Presidency, should you wish it.” Mr. Darzi regarded Lord Pilkington patiently, and Sophia realized that the man understood full well Lord Pilkington’s limited capacity for leadership.

  Lady Pilkington was also clearly cognizant of the undercurrents. Her husband nodded in response to Mr. Darzi’s suggestions, but had stuffed his mouth full of food. “Of course, such meetings would be not only appropriate but welcome,” Lady Pilkington said with a smile. “And please do continue to visit the Residency. Our door is open always to you and your family.”

  “I thank you, madam.”

  “I regret that we’ve not seen the prince of late,” Lady Pilkington said. “I do hope he does not suffer.”

  Mr. Darzi’s expression tightened fractionally. “I do not expect him to be with us much longer, but I thank you for your concern.”

  “The silver lining, I suppose, is that you will perform much more effectively in that role,” Lord Pilkington added. “He clings to the old ways, does he not?”

  Lady Pilkington briefly closed her eyes, and Sophia acknowledged that there was more to her sponsor than readily visible. Of the two Pilkingtons, she would have been by far the better diplomat. “We all approach customs and traditions differently, do we not?” Lady Pilkington added.

  Mr. Darzi smiled at her, and Sophia knew that he had probably reached Sophia’s conclusions about the Pilkingtons long ago. “We do indeed, my lady. And my cousin does hold to some of the older traditions that I and my other family members do not.”

  The midnight picnic continued, the guests laughed, the moon shone brightly down on the ­ruins, and the ­champagne—the finest from French vineyards—flowed generously. Dessert passed, tables and chairs were cleared, and a seven-piece ensemble began to play so that the guests might dance.

  Sophia looked occasionally for Rachael and Professor Gerald as well as Anthony but the random seating arrangements had placed
them in different areas. She finally spied Anthony, who locked eyes with her and mouthed, “Stay there.”

  She remained in that spot as he dodged his way through soldiers, tea planters, and Fleet women, until he was at last before her.

  He grabbed her hand. “A waltz,” he said. “Finally.” He led her to the center of the courtyard and pulled her close with what sounded very much like a relieved sigh. “The last waltz, the one at the costume ball, does not signify. We shall pretend it never happened. Though after this dance, I must ask others to dance, and you must fill your dance card, because we are nothing more than friends, of course.”

  She smiled. “Of course.”

  He sobered. “Keeping you safe has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, Sophia. It continues to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” He dropped his voice and deliberately shifted his hand higher on her back from where it had comfortably, familiarly, dropped. “Acting as though there is nothing . . .”

  “I shall be fine, and we shall finish this soon. And as we are to dance with others, might I suggest you save one for Charity Denney?”

  He tipped his head in question. “She is not the sort you usually point me toward. Is she suffering in some way?”

  “She is very pretty and vivacious, however she is concerned for her sister and anticipating loneliness should this association with Mr. Darzi escalate quickly.” Sophia lifted a shoulder. “I believe she would benefit from a lovely dance with a handsome gentleman. And then I would suggest Miss Adeline Vale. Her cousin is atrocious, and I suspect Miss Vale is never allowed to shine.”

  He arched a brow, his lips lifting at the corners. “I am wounded you would deliver me so casually to potential rivals with no apparent pangs of jealousy.”

  Sophia mirrored his small smile. “Are you suggesting I should be jealous?”

  His expression was all things benign. “Certainly not. I am, after all, practically in my dotage, especially in comparison to the young Miss Denney. She would find me quite ancient, surely.”

  Sophia couldn’t halt the smile from growing across her face. He had opened himself so beautifully for a perfectly aimed jest. “I am not so many years older than she, my lord. And you are of an age with my elder brother.”

  He chuckled and gave her hand a playful squeeze. “You are ageless, my dear. I was quite undone from the moment I met you over your brother’s sickbed. You possessed a maturity I’d never seen in a debutante.”

  Her response was wry. “Likely my life experiences have given me a different perspective than other debutantes.”

  He nodded, his eyes softening. “I cannot say I am glad for that, but I readily admit you are incomparable. Strong. And I am honored to be held in your good esteem.”

  Her eyes burned. “My, my. Much more of such talk will have me blubbering like a ninny.”

  Anthony gave her hand another gentle squeeze and glanced casually around at the other couples and the people thronging the courtyard and beyond. Ever aware, ever vigilant. Sophia had to admit it was a comfort. She felt safe.

  His mouth tightened, eyes narrowing slightly before returning his gaze to her. “Sophia, I teased you about Miss Denney, but on a truly serious note, please know I will not seek out Lissa Seadon’s attention or favor, ever. Should she corner me, or insinuate anything the least bit suggestive, you must know it is untrue. She is manipulative and conniving. And very much envious of you.” His expression was earnest, focused. “I do not care for her company, even casually. Do you trust me in this?”

  She nodded, and a warm glow settled in her chest. He knew the other woman had rattled Sophia’s confidence and so he addressed it directly. “I do.”

  They settled into a rhythm that was so much like her dreams that Sophia nearly cried. He was back. He was home. This was how it had been, how it had felt, although now there was a depth to their relationship, a better understanding than before, and perhaps she was that much more grateful he was who she had believed him to be all along.

  “You’re thinking,” he murmured.

  “I am remembering. This is exactly how it was. This feeling.”

  “Yes.” He paused and exhaled. “I have missed it. I have missed you so very much. I have dreamed of this since the night I left London, and there were times I feared it would never happen, that you would marry another, which would have been completely justified and understandable.”

  She swallowed, met his eyes. “I wanted to, and I could not.”

  “I shall thank God daily for that from this day forward.”

  She laughed. “Which one? You have several now from which to choose—Brahma, Vishnu, Kali, Shiva!”

  “Your personal favorite, is he?”

  “No, that’s—” She glanced around quickly. “That’s the statue I believe is missing from Pilkington’s study.”

  His brows drew together in thought and then his mouth slackened and his pace slowed.

  “What is it?”

  “Shiva, the destroyer.”

  They had all but stopped in one place and blocked other couples. She tapped his shoulder, and he resumed, his hand applying light pressure on her back as he led her out of the way. They continued dancing, and he said quietly, “I found a shard in the study the other night.”

  Sophia took a breath. “And you believe it is a part of a Shiva figurine?”

  “It is painted gold—Shiva is often portrayed with a trident in one of his hands. If the statue matched the other two in proportion, I believe the piece I found could be part of that trident.”

  They were silent for a moment, lost in their own thoughts.

  “Do you suppose the killer destroyed the rest of it?”

  “Possibly.”

  “It might explain why Pilkington was so insistent we not touch the other two—he is superstitious. He must have his belongings in threes, and the fact that the statue is missing is unsettling for him.”

  Anthony frowned, dropping his voice to nearly a whisper. “On the surface Pilkington has seemed somehow complicit in this whole affair—he is odd and obsessive in his ­behavior—but I am not certain circumstances are anything more than they seem. Aside from the fact that one of his statues was likely a weapon of convenience, I cannot find a legitimate tie from him to the crime. He had access to his own safe any time day or night. Had he sought to take the item from his study he could have without raising suspicion. There would be no need for an altercation.”

  Sophia nodded, thoughts swirling. “Could he have been interrupted in just that act, though?”

  Anthony lifted a shoulder. “During the costume ball when his house was stuffed full? And he, hosting with his wife?”

  “What better cover? Distraction, nobody to take note of his whereabouts?”

  He knit his brow in thought. “It makes no sense to me.”

  Sophia was frustrated that so many pieces of the puzzle still seemed to be missing. The music finally came to a close, and Anthony slowly released her, his attention focusing again on her with a smile. “Where is Miss Denney, then?”

  Sophia narrowed her eyes in mock recrimination as she craned her neck. “Over there, near the arch. But as people rarely escape your notice, I suspect you already know where she is. Go, now, and behave yourself.”

  He bowed and placed a kiss on her hand.

  “Who shall I dance with, do you suppose?” She blinked at him innocently.

  His grin gave way to a scowl. “Preferably the oldest man in attendance. Someone who paints me as a veritable adolescent in comparison.”

  She laughed softly and curtseyed as he brushed past her.

  “You behave yourself,” he muttered and shifted his way through the crowd to the arch.

  Chapter 24

  The mansion was hushed; most people were taking a late afternoon rest. Anthony had gone to the cantonment to talk to Dylan, whose superior office
r had contracted malaria and foisted several duties onto his next-in-command. Taj Darzi had accompanied Anthony in an effort to strengthen relations and perhaps lend resources to help find Captain Miller’s killer. To Sophia’s knowledge, Anthony had not divulged the nature of the dark reason behind the death to anyone but her, Dylan Stuart, and Rachael Scarsdale.

  Sophia flopped on her stomach across her bed and opened a novel she’d tried to read five times already. Too many thoughts swirled and tumbled about her head, and she couldn’t focus. Anthony was a spy. Sensitive information had been stolen, but as long as the thief did not have access to the code, they were probably safe. But now someone had killed for it. That same someone didn’t realize a young boy had witnessed the crime until his nanny spoke of it, trying to find a listening ear. Someone had threatened Sophia and tried to kill the boy . . .

  “Ugh,” she moaned and tossed the book on the floor, feeling juvenile and out of sorts. It was as though the mansion was anchored in the doldrums and there wasn’t a hint of wind anywhere. They would all die there on the equator, sunburned and shriveled.

  “Mercy,” she muttered. “What is the matter with me?”

  A rapid knock came at her door—panicked. She opened the door and realized why.

  “Charity?”

  The girl’s eyes were huge. But then, the girl’s eyes were often huge.

  “Sophia!” Charity pushed into the room and slammed the door. “It’s Beatrice,” she breathed and grabbed her middle. “Beatrice—” Her face crumpled, and her voice caught on a sob.

  Sophia pulled her to one of the chairs by the hearth. She crouched in front of it and patted Charity’s knee. “Breathe. There’s a good girl. And another deep breath—there we go. Now. What has happened to Beatrice?”

  “She overheard the servants talking in the compound today as they laundered clothing. Many of the families’ servants gather to do the chores. It makes the task so much less tedious, you see.”