The Secret of the India Orchid

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  Dylan rushed up behind him in the dark hallway and took in the scene. “What has happened here, my lords?”

  “This man is my employer,” Anthony ground out and moved slowly across the room, giving a wide berth to the body of Clergyman Denney.

  Braxton’s eyes widened at the open admission. He recovered quickly enough and brandished his weapon. He snatched the packet of papers from Sophia’s limp hands and stood. “Do not come another step closer, Anthony. I do not want to, but I will shoot.”

  Anthony smiled. “You do not have time to reload.” He rushed Braxton, using his momentum to drive the man backward, his energy fueling a storm of fury. He twisted Braxton, shoving his face up against a pillar and noting a satisfying thud as he did so. Using one hand, he twisted Braxton’s arm high up behind his back. The older man gave a grunt of pain, but Anthony did nothing to ease the discomfort. He used his thumb to dig into Braxton’s wrist, and forced him to relax his grip on the gun. Anthony ripped the weapon from Braxton’s fingers and tossed it to the ground, where it clattered against the stone floor, slid, and then came to rest against the wall.

  Anthony ground the barrel of his gun into Braxton’s ­temple and felt a vein in his own temple throb. He glanced down at Sophia, relieved to see the rise and fall of her chest. “You are lucky she lives, else I would end you right now. As it stands, I will give you a chance. Who stole the document, Braxton? Who initially set out to sell it to the French? It wasn’t Harold Miller.”

  “Major Stuart, this man is mad. I demand you arrest him immediately. The clergyman confessed to killing Captain Miller. I dealt with him, and I insist on the return of my property.” Braxton choked as Anthony shoved his neck against the pillar.

  “Who—stole—it? Who are you protecting? You should tell me now, Braxton, because I’ll tell you something. Captain Miller left a diary. In it, he wrote that his nephew names the guilty party in this very packet.” He reached beneath Braxton’s fingers which held the documents flush against his waistcoat. He pried it away, his gun still pressed against the man’s head.

  “Stuart, come here, if you please.”

  Dylan walked to them, his weapon also trained on Braxton.

  “If he moves, shoot him.”

  “Understood.”

  Braxton snarled but remained still.

  Anthony bent down to Sophia, placed two fingers against her throat to check for a pulse, and was relieved to feel it steady and consistent. Her skin was so pale. She looked as though she’d gone rounds with a bad sort in an alley. He tilted her head to the side. There was a goose egg on her ­temple that he knew had come from the butt of Braxton’s gun.

  He opened the packet of papers and found the Janus Document itself, which was several pages long. It was indeed written in a familiar code—one deciphered through the use of specific passages in Shakespeare’s As You Like It. Anthony had committed the pattern to memory, as had every government operative, former and current. He located his name, Jack and Ivy’s information, details about Sophia. Where she liked to shop. The names of his associates past and present and their information filled the pages, details so finely determined Braxton must have used a small army of his own to gather the intelligence. It would take some time to decipher the whole of it. Anthony wasn’t certain anyone should.

  At the end of the packet was a letter signed by Harold Miller. Not only did it outline exactly what had transpired, but it named the man responsible.

  Anthony’s anger was so palpable he thought he might choke on it. “You.” He stood and faced the man he’d not necessarily always liked, but ultimately had trusted. “You were the point of contact negotiating the sale. You took Harold Miller to France, intended to use him as the scapegoat when either the information became public or when your people started dying.”

  Braxton remained silent.

  “How . . .” Anthony paced away from him, not trusting himself to not cause more harm than good when Stuart had a pistol trained on the man already. “You were prepared to watch us all die or be blackmailed. Our families used against us, killed, tortured?” He flipped through the pages again. He gave a bitter laugh and looked at Braxton. “You told me you were in danger, that your information was listed here also. Which, of course, I would wager it isn’t.”

  “You are a smug one, aren’t you, Wilshire? Your family coffers have always been full. You have no idea what it is like to have the family property, all your holdings, gambled away by a wastrel father. Do you think I have worked all these years by choice? Only to realize that in my retirement my pension will not support me, let alone my estates?”

  “If Major Stuart were not here right now, Braxton, I would kill you.” He approached the lantern Denney had left on a ledge. Rolling the papers into a tight cylinder—all except for Harold Miller’s statement—he held them to the flame and watched the hated document burn to ashes.

  “I hear the others,” Anthony said to Stuart. “Reinforcements. I am going to get the women out of here.” He bent to Sophia, scooping her up and cursing Braxton when he saw the huge bruise that was developing around her temple. Her head lolled listlessly against his shoulder, and he felt a stab of fear that he tamped back down.

  “I’ll not go to Newgate, Wilshire!” Braxton shouted.

  “No, not for long,” Anthony agreed without turning around as he carried Sophia to the entrance. “You’ll hang.”

  Chapter 28

  Sophia floated in a strange haze. People spoke in hushed tones, and small sips of water or broth were held to her mouth. When she fought, a low, masculine voice in her ear told her to behave, and when she fought more, he forced her chin down. She was also force-fed an awful, sickly-sweet substance that made her gag and sputter.

  She fought the haze, but it was like clawing her way through clouds. The fog never moved out of her way, never cleared. When she thought she would go mad from it, strong arms held her still and brushed her hair away from her face. She was so incredibly tired.

  Finally, the haze lifted. Sophia opened her eyes and then wished she hadn’t. The shutters in her bedchamber were open, and the light pierced through to the back of her skull. She held up her arm and heard a startled, “Oh!”

  “Briggs?”

  “Miss Sophia! Oh, goodness, you’re awake! How do you feel?”

  “The shutters—”

  “Oh!” A scuffle of feet, a loud slap of wood, and the offending light was dimmed.

  Sophia lowered her arm and looked around. There were bottles, cups, and spoons on the nightstand and a wrinkled cravat and suit coat over the back of her vanity chair. “This is my room?”

  “Yes.” Briggs sat gingerly on the bed next to her. “Do you not remember the room? We are in Bombay. India.” Briggs spoke slowly, enunciating very carefully.

  Sophia tried to smile but it hurt. Everything hurt. “Water?”

  Briggs reached to the nightstand and poured water into a small cup.

  Sophia took it, but had to use both hands to hold it steady. “Briggs, what happened?”

  Her maid eyed her warily. “What happened since we left London?”

  Sophia rolled her eyes, and that hurt as well. “No, what happened since Braxton killed Clergyman Denney at the ­ruins?”

  “Ah, I best leave the telling of that to his lordship.”

  “Lord Pilkington?”

  “No, Miss Sophia. Lord Wilshire. This is the first he’s left your side since bringing you in here like a rag doll yesterday morning.”

  “Yesterday?” Sophia looked in vain for her timepiece. “What time is it now?”

  “Nearly six o’clock.”

  “People will be up for breakfast soon, then. I should like to check on Amala Ayah and Charlie.”

  “No, miss. Six o’clock in the evening.”

  Sophia blinked. “I’ve never slept so long in my life.”

  “They kept
you loaded up with laudanum. Doctor said it would be good for you to sleep some. You’re a right mess of bumps and bruises.”

  She put a hand to her head and felt a lump the size of a small apple. “Oh, Briggs! Rachael! Braxton hit her so very hard—” A flood of images rushed back, and her head ached from it.

  “She is fine. Woke up a few hours ago.” Briggs smiled. “Most romantic mansion in the province, I’d wager. Lord Wilshire playing nursemaid in here, Professor Gerald doing the same for Miss Scarsdale. All properly chaperoned, of course.”

  “And Charity? Beatrice?”

  A soft knock at the door interrupted them, and Briggs opened it to reveal Amala Ayah and Charlie. Sophia put a hand to her mouth and looked at the small boy, who had color in his cheeks and held his beloved horse, Chestnut, close to his heart. She beckoned to them, and Briggs allowed them entrance.

  “Charlie!” Sophia smiled and hoped she didn’t look so horrifying as to frighten the boy. “I am so happy to see you!”

  “As I am happy to see you, Miss Elliot. I am glad you are well.” He looked so solemn.

  Sophia patted the side of the bed. “Will you show me Chestnut’s healed wound?”

  Charlie looked at Amala, who nodded and helped him climb gently onto the bed with Sophia. He held out the horse, and she saw he had kept the “bandage” around the middle that Anthony had tied on the toy after they adhered the two pieces together. She imagined Mr. Denney sawing the toy in half in the first place to frighten Charlie into remaining silent, and she felt a fresh wave of anger at the man.

  “He looks splendid.” Sophia touched the bandage with her fingertip and smiled at Charlie. “He is such a noble horse, after all.”

  Charlie nodded. “He was wounded in battle, protecting his master. It is very praiseworthy, don’t you think?”

  Her eyes misted. “I do, indeed.”

  “Chestnut is also great friends with Lightning, the elephant you gave me.”

  Sophia grinned, despite the fact that it hurt. “You named him Lightning?”

  “Yes.” His smile was wide. “Although he certainly isn’t quick as lightning, the name reminded me of you, so it seemed fitting.”

  “Charlie, do I detect a small space between those two front teeth of yours?” Sophia widened her eyes dramatically.

  He nodded and showed her his teeth, one of which was indeed missing. “Amala Ayah read me a story about a boy who lived in the Congo, and when he lost his tooth, he tossed it up onto his roof and made a wish. I did that very thing with Mama and Papa, although we had to toss it from one of the third-story windows.”

  She smiled. “Did your wish come true?”

  “It did.” He smiled. “You are recovered.”

  Her eyes burned with tears. “Oh mercy, sweet boy.” She leaned forward and gently embraced him, ignoring stabs of pain that came with every movement. His little arms encircled her, and she kissed his head. “I believe you shall always be one of my dearest friends.”

  Sophia released him, and Amala tapped his shoulder. “Miss Elliot must rest, now.”

  Sophia reached her hand toward the nanny, who clasped it between her own. “Amala Ayah, I am so glad he is safe,” she whispered. “When I have children of my own, I shall look to my memories of you as an example of motherhood at its most noble and purest.”

  The woman’s eyes glistened. “You honor me, Miss Elliot.”

  Briggs asked if she could see Chestnut’s bandage, and Sophia took advantage of Charlie’s momentary distraction. “Amala, did he ever tell you why he did not simply name the clergyman? Surely he recognized him.”

  Amala nodded and released Sophia’s hands to wipe at her eyes. “I asked him,” she murmured, “and he said he was afraid of him. Every Sunday, you see, he attended the sermon with his parents, and the message relayed was always one of fiery death and eternal burning. I believe when he witnessed a violent crime at the very hands of a man who was so fearsome, he was absolutely terrified.”

  Sophia shook her head. “Little wonder, then, that he chose to keep silent. But we are beyond it now, and he has both you and his parents to love him.”

  The door opened, and Anthony stood at the threshold, attempting to tie his cravat himself. A clean suit coat was draped over one arm and he looked freshly shaved and bathed. She smiled at him and winced only a small bit.

  “You’re awake!” He rushed into the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

  Her ears hurt.

  Amala laughed lightly and took Charlie’s hand. “We shall visit later.”

  Sophia nodded and waved at Charlie.

  “Briggs, why did you not send for me?” Anthony demanded. “I specifically told you to send for me immediately!”

  Sophia looked up at Anthony. “I do hope Rachael’s maid is with her and Professor Gerald or the Resident’s mansion will garner a reputation as a house of ill repute.”

  “That was funny.” He sat on the edge of her bed, evidencing a level of familiarity that must have increased while she was unconscious. “That is most definitely good. You’re saying funny things; you seem lucid.”

  “I am lucid, silly man.”

  “The doctor said you might be fuzzy for a time, but that your brain will clear up straightaway.”

  She reached for his fingers, and he stopped fiddling with the cravat. “I am not fuzzy,” she told him gently. “Now that you all have stopped dosing me with laudanum, I am feeling remarkably alert.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “The doctor thought it would be best. You were so hurt.” He paused and swallowed. His eyes clouded. “You were so hurt.”

  “But I am better now.”

  “You do still look as though you’ve gone the rounds at Gentleman Jack’s.”

  “Thank you.”

  He flushed. “I am saying all the wrong things. Briggs, this is a private moment, please close your ears.”

  Sophia smiled softly when Briggs slipped out the door and stood in the hallway, but left the door ajar. “Bless her.”

  “Sophia, when I received your note about Beatrice and the palace I was terrified. I returned here to find you had gone—without help, without me. When we reached the palace, there was no sign of you but definite evidence of sati. Beatrice was perfectly safe; she had been detained in the women’s quarters, and she provided testimony that warranted an arrest for Prince Ekavir’s advisory officials.”

  Sophia nodded. Good. One hurdle cleared.

  “Stuart left a retinue of soldiers at the palace, and then we returned here. Lady Pilkington apprised us of everything that had happened while we were gone, informed us that Braxton had arrived first and that she had sent him ahead to the ­ruin. Lady Pilkington thought she was doing a good thing, but . . . I was terrified.”

  She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. “You did mention that.”

  He brought her hand to his lips. He closed his eyes and pressed a long, lingering kiss on the back of her fingers. When he looked up, his eyes were suspiciously bright. “Lady Pilkington has taken the Denney girls under her wing, along with their poor mother, who very much needs a strong friend at the moment, I should think.”

  Sophia smiled. “And little Charlie seems on the mend. When he was here just now he was very near the little boy I met when I first arrived.”

  “I have other good news for the both of us. The Seadon family has packed their bags. They are staying at the Governor General’s bungalow for the next few days until their ship arrives.”

  “To take them where?”

  “I do not know, nor care. Matron Seadon lost interest in remaining here when I made it clear that I am not interested at all in her daughter.”

  He kissed her fingers again, rubbing his lower lip softly across her knuckles. He put her palm to his cheek and held it there. “Lady Pilkington, the Denney sisters, even Amala and Charlie—they have all camp
ed outside your door awaiting news, praying that all would be well.” He smiled and then sobered. “What is the last thing you remember about the ­ruins?”

  “The last I remember is Braxton trying to take the documents from me.”

  “I needn’t bore you with details. But Braxton is aboard military transport back to London and the Janus Document has been destroyed.”

  “Oh, Anthony. Braxton is to stand trial for murdering Denney?” She creased her brow, which hurt.

  “Yes.” He shook his head with a humorless laugh. He paused, the muscles in his jaw pronounced. “Additionally, since he was behind the theft in the first place, he will face charges of treason. He is the reason we are not now, as we speak, at the Wilshire townhome in London, married, with a baby in the nursery and hopefully another on the way.”

  She laughed. “Oh, everything hurts!” She clutched her stomach. “There are a few problems with your scenario, dearest.”

  “Such as?”

  “Firstly, I would like a true proposal. And then I should like for us to spend some time in the country being boring and staid and playing with Catherine and Ivy and Jack.” She looked up at him, but frowned as something on her neck itched. She scratched, only to find a large bandage in place.

  “What is the purpose of this thing?” She rubbed it lightly, which of course, hurt.

  Anthony shook his head, his nostrils flaring slightly. “That blasted clergyman cut you with his machete.”

  She laughed. “It was not a machete.”

  “It looked like a machete. I saw it.” He scooted closer to her so that his hip touched hers. “My sweet Sophia, I am so sorry. It is my fault you were hurt when I left, it is my fault that you’re here now, still hurting, and it is my fault that my enemies nearly succeeded in beating you to a pulp. I can spend a lifetime attempting to make it right for you and never succeed.” He kissed her lips softly.

  She laid her palm on his cheek. “Silly man. I made the choices that have affected me. And I would do it all again. I love you; I never stopped loving you. And I am so very glad you are not a libertine.”