by Eloisa James
A voice sounded at her ear. “These are some exhibits from the East India Company Museum, my lady. The museum is also housed in Leadenhall, if you would like to visit it at your leisure.”
Gabby drew back. An imposing butler stood before her. She asked, “Are these the plunder from the capture of Seringapatam?”
The butler bowed affirmatively. “They are. They were sent as a gift for the queen and are here by special permission of Her Majesty.”
Quill slipped his hand under Gabby’s elbow. “What are you looking at, love?”
Her eyes were shining with anger. “I recognized that bird,” she said, indicating a large ruby-encrusted statue of a cock. “It was taken during the capture of Seringapatam. I played with it as a child.” She turned away suddenly and walked toward the far end of the hallway, ignoring the rest of the cabinets.
They entered the reception hall to find that the receiving line had just dissolved. There was a moment’s confusion, and then a man with long, drawn cheeks and a small amount of wavy hair tied back at his neck rushed toward them.
“My dear Lord Breksby!” he cried with apparent delight. “I scarcely dared hope that you would be able to join us today, that you would take note of our small endeavors!”
Breksby bowed. “Mr. Grant, the pleasure is all mine, naturally. May I present my guests? I have been so bold as to bring a few acquaintances to your gathering.”
Mr. Grant’s face was a trifle bleak as he cast a quick look over the group, even though his words were welcoming enough. “Could it be? Could you have done us the inexpressible honor of bringing the daughter of my esteemed friend, Richard Jerningham, to my little gathering?” He bowed in Gabby’s direction. She curtsied in reply.
Quill noticed that there was a little smile playing around the corner of Breksby’s mouth.
“Indeed,” Breksby replied, “I have brought Gabrielle Jerningham to your party, Charles, although she is now the Viscountess Dewland, as I am persuaded you must be aware. I was quite, quite convinced that you would wish her to greet your rediscovered prince. And this is Viscount Dewland.”
Quill thought that Grant’s face was looking a trifle longer than it was when the party entered. But he bowed politely enough.
Breksby’s voice was practically shimmering with naughty pleasure. “Now, we would hate to waste a moment before allowing the viscountess to meet her dear, dear childhood companion—”
But he was interrupted by a booming voice. “What a true pleasure it is to see you here, my lady, and looking so blooming.” It was Colonel Hastings, who bowed low before Gabby. “This is a happy day for the East India Company,” he said, addressing Quill. “A happy day! The governor-general is most pleased, most pleased indeed. We have located the prince, Kasi Rao, and he will be restored to his rightful place on the Holkar throne imminently, yes, imminently!”
Quill noticed with some interest that Mr. Charles Grant appeared to be grinding his teeth.
But Colonel Hastings was oblivious. “Mr. Grant, you must allow me to do the honors. I shall introduce the lovely viscountess to her childhood companion, our honored guest, the Indian prince!”
Gabby gave Quill a helpless look, but Colonel Hastings was towing her into the throng of people. Quill had turned to follow when he felt a hand on his sleeve.
It was Charles Grant. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Dewland. I was rather under the impression that you had decided to eschew all contact with India men.” His tone was dry.
“I did,” Quill replied. “However, I could hardly miss such an emotional moment as this is bound to be,” he added gently. “My wife is about to be reunited with her childhood companion, a boy who was raised as a brother to her.”
Grant seemed to have nothing to say to that.
“A boy about whom my wife has told me so much,” Quill added thoughtfully. “Why, I am alight with anticipation myself.”
He cast a glance at Grant’s hand, which still held his sleeve. The hand dropped away.
Quill bowed, very slightly. “Your servant.” He turned and walked into the crowd, searching for Gabby.
Since he was taller than many of those at the reception, he spotted Gabby and Colonel Hastings almost immediately. They were standing before a slender lad, presumably Kasi Rao, who had his back to Quill. Gabby was in the midst of a low curtsy and he couldn’t see her face. Then Kasi bowed as well, deftly tucking the ceremonial sword slung at his side out of the way. A beautiful smile broke over Gabby’s face—and a puzzled frown over Quill’s.
He stopped for a moment, watching his wife chatter in Hindi to the prince. Colonel Hastings was looking dewy-eyed, clearly moved by the emotional reunion of two childhood companions.
Quill made his way around little clusters of people until he stood at Gabby’s side. Gabby looked up at him, eyes glowing. “Why, dearest,” she cooed. “Just imagine! Here is Kasi Rao, all grown up. Why, I would hardly recognize him. Of course, it had been so long since I’d seen him.”
Mr. Grant popped up at Quill’s elbow, his face wreathed in smiles. “I see that our long-lost prince has met with your approval, my lady.” Surely it wasn’t just Quill who caught heartfelt relief in Charles Grant’s voice.
“Well, how could he not?” Gabby’s eyes were liquid innocence. “I have not seen Kasi since he was a mere child, and I am remarkably impressed by his”—she waved her hand—“his elegance, his demeanor, his princely bearing.”
The supposed Kasi Rao smiled at her. Quill had to admit that the lad was the best impostor he’d ever seen. He looked exactly as one might expect an Indian prince to look, with large brown eyes and an innate sense of majesty. Where on earth had they found him? Not in a gutter in Jaipur, that was for certain.
Quill shook his head and slipped away. Unless he missed his bet, his wily wife had more to do with the appearance of the “lost” prince than he had known. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had manipulated Grant into finding the lad in the first place. So much for Grant thinking that he was the next thing to the English government. Lady Gabrielle Dewland was running circles around him.
Briefly thereafter, the Indian prince was formally presented with a jewel-studded crown, courtesy of the East India Company. Colonel Hastings read aloud a letter written by the governor-general himself, Richard Colley Wellesley, for the occasion.
The restoration of Kasi Rao Holkar to his hereditary rights by the aid of the British power was, in Wellesley’s hyperbolic prose, highly creditable to the justice and honor of the British.
Gabby stood just to the side of Kasi Rao Holkar, her face alight with approval and pride. She curtsied gracefully to each and every member of the Board of Directors, reiterating her pleasure in the fact that they had managed to locate the lost prince and were restoring him to his rightful place.
Quill said nothing and merely threw Gabby an ironic look when she chattered breathlessly in the coach about how lovely it was to meet her childhood friend again.
But Breksby was no fool. He kept looking at Gabby with an assessing air, until he finally turned to Quill and said, “Do you know who the man is?”
Gabby stopped mid-chatter.
Quill shrugged. “No. But he seems to be a decent candidate for the throne.”
Breksby turned back to Gabby with a charming smile. “You see, my lady, soon after you arrived from India, we became aware of your visits to the house of Mrs. Malabright. Naturally, we never shared that information with the East India Company directors. However, it appears that you have stolen a march on us, have you not?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Gabby said with some dignity.
“Mr. Kasi Rao Holkar, heir to the Holkar throne, was happily living with Mrs. Malabright in Sackville Street, and has since moved to Devon,” Breksby replied. “We in the Foreign Office were quite content to leave things as such. We decided that you were correct to fear that the East India Company would make the boy into a figurehead. But I admit that I was expecting you to expose Charles Grant�
�s prince as a fake, my lady.”
Gabby scooted closer to Quill and took his hand. “The East India Company almost found Kasi. I had to do something.”
“But how on earth did you manage to produce another Kasi for them to discover?”
Gabby looked embarrassed. “He will be an excellent ruler.”
“I do not question that. But I am curious who he is.”
“His name is Jawsant Rao Holkar,” Gabby said. “He is one of Tukoji Holkar’s illegitimate sons.”
“Tukoji has two such sons, doesn’t he? How did you decide which son to place on the throne, Lady Dewland?” Breksby’s voice was dry, but not disrespectful.
“There really wasn’t much of a choice. You see, Jawsant’s younger brother is docile and would never be able to ward off the company’s possession of the Holkars. Jawsant is rather militant, and he is a very good actor. You could see how well he did tonight. He is quite adept at appearing malleable, although he already led a successful battle, last year, when he was fourteen.”
Breksby smiled ruefully. “I can see that your information is much more thorough than ours, Lady Dewland.”
“It wasn’t as organized as it sounds,” Gabby admitted. “I had an idea, and so I wrote to a number of people, including Jawsant’s mother, Tulasi Bai. Tulasi Bai has been running the region for over two years. Undoubtedly she will continue to rule the court, and Jawsant will control the army.” Gabby paused delicately. “There is, of course, the possibility that Jawsant will attempt to penetrate the company’s territory. I believe he is particularly interested in Bundelkhand.”
Quill grinned down at his wife. “Not that you, as a mere female, could speculate on such a complicated subject.”
But she was biting her lip and paying him no attention. “Lord Breksby, do you think that perhaps the English government might simply leave Jawsant as ruler? Because I assure you that Kasi Rao could not take over the Holkar throne!” Now her voice had all the strained passion that Quill would have expected the previous day.
“No one could have anything but admiration for you, Lady Dewland. But as it happens, I think that perhaps this knowledge would prove overtaxing to other members of the government. And you know, old as I am, my memory is growing quite erratic. I believe I shall forget that we ever had this conversation.”
Gabby clutched Quill’s hand. “Thank you!” she breathed.
“Lady Dewland, naturally I speak hypothetically, but if you were to receive any letters from the Holkar court in the future—oh, say from Tulasi Bai—would you be willing to share information with the British government?”
“Perhaps,” Gabby said. “I will always be glad to help in any way that I deem suitable, my lord.”
Lord Breksby’s sigh indicated that he knew precisely how much information the Foreign Office could expect to garner from the viscountess’s correspondence. “This has been a most interesting evening, Lady Dewland,” he said. “Did you know that I am retiring from my post in the very near future?”
“I believe that my husband informed me of that happy event,” she said, giving the retiring minister a sweet smile.
“And I’m pleased to be doing so,” Breksby said with a chuckle. “I would be worried that you’d turn me into a figurehead and run the Foreign Office yourself.”
Gabby’s enchanting, husky giggle escaped. “Fie, sir! All I did was protect my sweet Kasi, as you well know. I have no ambitions to interfere with British foreign policy.”
There was a moment’s unconvinced silence in the carriage.
Gabby leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder. They might not believe her, but she was being absolutely truthful. Her next project was Quill.
SUDHAKAR STEPPED OFF the Fortitude onto English soil with a sense of profound relief. The journey had been exhausting. He found Calcutta to be conspicuously unpleasant, a great mass of people running this way and that. Each private gentleman was attended by twenty servants at least, if you counted the footmen who ran before his palanquin and the bahareas who carried it. Shouting and screaming echoed in the streets. One couldn’t take a stroll without being nearly burned by torchbearers or pushed aside by nakeeves clearing the way for their masters. He found the number of elephants plodding down the streets particularly irksome, given their propensity to void while in motion.
And he had to admit that he missed his village. At home there was only one such elevated personage—Richard Jerningham. And Jerningham employed only one nakeeve to clear his way and one page to carry an umbrella to shade him from the sun. Sudhakar had always thought that Jerningham was a pompous bore. Now he realized that he hadn’t even guessed the pomposity of which Jerningham might have been capable.
In contrast, life on the Fortitude had been a familiar experience. The four passengers appeared to be trapped in a small floating village, ensnared by their anxieties, prejudices, and sentiments. At first, the English gentlemen ignored Sudhakar, viewing him with supercilious disdain, as such types surveyed all those they believed to be in a humbler walk of life. To Sudhakar, this was familiar, since Jerningham had affected the same sneering contempt—until he realized that Sudhakar was the only English-speaking chess player in the village.
After a few weeks the tides of boredom caused the three Englishmen to drift toward the elderly Indian gentleman. They were young and returning to England after serving, Sudhakar suspected, a less-than-stellar period in the East India army. Soon the four of them took to playing cards every night.
At least one of the men, Mr. Michael Edwardes, privately admitted to being quite impressed by the native—quite impressed. Sudhakar was neatly dressed, with respectable manners and an intelligent mien. Perhaps more than an intelligent mien. The man would get a discomforting gleam in his eye whenever Michael found himself in a bit of a fib. But really, one couldn’t tell the truth about the army. It wasn’t done. One had to make up some stories of daring attacks; otherwise military life would sound as disappointing and mundane as it had been in fact.
Once the boat docked, all three young men, including Michael, trotted eagerly into the twilight, completely forgetting their promises to guide Sudhakar through London’s twisty streets. Michael only remembered late that night, while he was telling his sister Ginny about the Battle of Tajpur (adding a slight gloss to what would otherwise have been a very tedious account). Something made him think of Sudhakar and he struck his knee and swore.
“What is it?” Ginny asked. She was a bright woman who was having trouble reconciling her memories of her timid little brother with his heroic exploits on the battlefield.
“I forgot all about an old Indian gaffer on the vessel,” Michael said. “I promised I’d get him safely to—where the devil was he going? St. James’s Square, I think.”
“Oh, that’s off the park,” Ginny said. “A really fine address, Michael.”
Her brother shrugged. “Perhaps he was an uncle to the butler or something. Now, let me tell you what happened the day after I took the Raja prisoner.”
SUDHAKAR HAD NOT REALLY EXPECTED aid from the Englishmen. They were young and foolish. Nor did he need such help. A constable directed him to the row of waiting hackneys.
London, Sudhakar quickly realized, was forty times worse than Calcutta. Carriages, horses, and passersby jostled for space. The noise was more piercing than that in Calcutta’s streets. Where were all these horses going so quickly and so dangerously? His vehicle was nearly struck by a speeding carriage, and as he looked back, he distinctly saw one of the footmen clinging to its back almost lose his balance. The man would certainly have fallen to his death. In retrospect, slow and smelly elephants seemed marvelously safe.
Thirty minutes later he was facing a very superior type of servant who looked as starched as Richard Jerningham himself. Sudhakar bowed politely and salaamed for good measure. “The viscountess is expecting my arrival.”
Codswallop was far more intelligent than Mr. Michael Edwardes, and he had spent his entire life judging degrees of nobility. I
t was clear to him at a glance that Mr. Sudhakar was the equivalent of a nobleman, over there in India. Something about the way he held his head.
Codswallop bowed in return and then turned to a footman. “John! Take the gentleman’s bag to the East Chamber.”
Sudhakar gently held up his hand. “I prefer to keep it by my side, thank you.”
“Unfortunately the master and mistress are not at home. May I offer you some light refreshment?”
Sudhakar ate a small repast in the dining room and then placidly retired to the East Chamber, telling Codswallop that he would await the viscountess’s bidding in the morning.
“Yes, the very best manners,” Codswallop muttered to himself that evening. It was mind-opening, that’s what. He, Codswallop, tended to put Indians and Irish in the same group—don’t hire ‘em, as his dad would say. But there are always exceptions in life.
QUILL SAID NOTHING to Codswallop’s announcement of their unexpected visitor. He noted that Gabby’s face took on a happy glow and that Mr. Sudhakar had been placed in the best spare chamber. Their guest must be formidable indeed to have impressed Codswallop. He waited until the door to Gabby’s chamber closed behind them.
“So who is Mr. Sudhakar?” he asked, casually stopping Gabby as she reached out to the bellpull to summon Margaret.
“But I told you all about him!” Gabby exclaimed, sitting down before her dressing table. “He is quite my dearest friend in India—the doctor who specializes in poisons, do you remember now? I cannot wait to see him again. It might sound odd”—she cast a slightly ashamed glance at Quill as she started taking down her hair—“but I miss him far more than I miss my father.”
“He sounds like an extremely worthy person,” Quill replied. “But why is Mr. Sudhakar in England?” He waited, his face impassive, eyes on Gabby. Surely her cheeks were looking a bit rosy?
“Oh, well,” Gabby said, “Sudhakar was very helpful to me with the whole scheme to save Kasi Rao. That is, I wrote him and requested that he aid Tulasi Bai in making arrangements for her son to travel to England, and he did, and then—”