Fever Quest: A Clean Historical Mystery set in England and India (The Isabella Rockwell Trilogy Book 2) (2 page)

Midge nodded knowingly. “Yeah, but that’s when it gets
you. You’d ’ave frozen to death.”

“Well, I’d been sleeping under the arches at Vauxhall, but
I got moved on by a Peeler I followed a driver to where he stabled his drays
and snuck in. It was just before I closed the door that I saw you being beaten
up by the Barrow Boys. You looked like a very small, bloody snowman.”

Midge giggled. “You flattened them.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Isabella looked pleased with herself.
“The rest you know, but Abhaya helped me a lot when Lily was ill. I could hear
her voice telling me what to do, what medicines to use. It was as if she was
next to me.”

There was an intake of breath from Midge.

“I’d forgotten about Lily being so ill.”

Midge still had a child’s perception of time in that
yesterday, today and tomorrow were really the only days that counted. Isabella
looked around her luxurious cabin at the polished brass and shining wood, but
she didn’t really see them. She was remembering the den she had lived in with
Midge and his gang of orphans. The makeshift walls of sweet-smelling coffee
sacks and floor of wood. How the windows would have ice on the inside until one
of them got the fire going in the morning. They’d had very little and had gone
to bed hungry more times than Isabella cared to remember, but Midge’s gang had
welcomed her in and shown her the real meaning of kindness.

“We’d stolen that food, hadn’t we, that day, from Covent Garden?”

“Yeah. Their Christmas shopping.” She giggled. “Served
them right.”

There was a pause in the noise from outside and then the
sound of a merry tune cut through the humid air.

“You know, when Princess Alix took you in, I didn’t think
we’d ever see you again,” said Midge.

Isabella squeezed his arm. “I know. I don’t think
Zachariah did either.”

Seventeen-year-old Zachariah had been in charge of them
all. Tricky, handsome Zachariah with whom Isabella had clashed more than once.

She got up from the bed and went over to the dressing
table. She straightened the silver brushes. “I can’t pretend I didn’t think
about it. It would have been easy.” She turned and looked at Midge, a
still-slight figure beneath her bed’s canopy. Midge’s expression was older than
his years. Funny how they were all like that, the street children. Old eyes in
young faces.

“So what made you stay?”

Isabella felt the stain of a blush creep up her chest. “I
left Abhaya when I shouldn’t have and she died. I couldn’t do it again, not to
you and Zach, and not to Alix. I’d hoped to find a way to make it all work –
but in the end I couldn’t.”

Midge’s voice was gruff. “You saved Alix’s life, which
meant none of us will ever have to go hungry again. I think you done pretty
well.”

Isabella’s throat closed as the memory of the icy New
Year’s Eve came flooding back. Ruby’s inert body and her sightless eyes as
Isabella had gathered her in her arms whilst Princess Alix’s body drifted to
the bottom of the lake, her hair a halo of gold in the water around her.
Isabella felt again the heart-stopping cold of the water and the heaviness of
her own limbs as she’d dragged Alix’s dead weight to shore. The images Isabella
had tried to banish every night since sprang fully formed into her mind: Alix’s
waxy skin, the mud under her fingernails, her stilled breathing.

Midge’s touch was feather light on her arm, and the
pictures dispersed like steam off a teacup. Her cabin came back into view.

“Sorry.” She smiled.

“You were miles away. You still getting them dreams?”

“Once in a while, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Don’t
worry.” She paused. “Shall we go and get some dinner if you’re feeling better?”

But Midge walked past her as if he hadn’t heard her.
Isabella shook her head. He was always like this after he’d talked about Ruby.
He’d pretend his tears hadn’t happened, that he’d never been upset, but the
pain of loss wasn’t something that could be fobbed off like an unwelcome dinner
guest. It had a nasty habit of coming back when it was least expected, as well
she knew.

“Don’t look now, but here comes Eloise.” Midge had
finished his pudding. Isabella looked up to see Eloise Molesey, a symphony of
yellow satin, making her way towards them. “I said,
don’t
look up,” he
hissed. It was too late. Eloise was upon them. She sat down without being
asked.

“Now then, you two, I want you to come to the library
after dinner and meet some friends.”

Isabella looked at Eloise. Eloise and her mother, Lady
Molesey, had been on Isabella’s voyage to England the year before and she and
Eloise had little liking for each other. However, since Isabella’s heroic
rescue of the heir to the throne of England, Eloise had been prepared to
overlook Isabella’s previous behaviour, so she could have a friend she might
boast about.

“Who?” Isabella shovelled the last of her melon into her
mouth. Eloise wrinkled her nose.

“Livia Denier and Rose Pelham.”

Isabella looked up.

“Isn’t Livia Denier the one who’s not allowed to do
anything? Kept locked in her cabin, or something awful.” Isabella chased the
last piece of melon around her bowl with her spoon.

Eloise raised an eyebrow. “So you do pay attention
sometimes, Isabella.”

Midge kicked her under the table.

“I always listen to what you say, Eloise.”

Eloise opened her fan and leaned forward.

“Well for once you are right. Livia’s been given special
permission to come and play cards with us in the library. My mama knows her
mama and told her Livia’d be perfectly safe.”

“Safe from what?” asked Midge, rolling melted candle wax
into pellets and frowning.

“Oh, I don’t know, Midge,” Eloise replied dismissively.

“I don’t want to play cards with a load of girls.” His
blond brows met in a scowl.

“Well you can go to bed then,” snapped Eloise.

For once, Midge was at a loss for words.

The library was a long low-ceilinged room and the
walls line with books. Lanterns sat on the little card tables dotted around the
room, so each had its own island of light. Candles had also been lit and
outside a giant moon hung over the lights of Mombasa, and the scent of lemon
wafted through an open hatch. Shadows flickered on the books, and low murmurs
and hushed laughter came from the card tables around them. Servants in white
hurried back and forth with drinks and cards and cigars. Even though Isabella
had visited it a few times before, the room still felt very grown-up, as if
full of things that were completely unknown to her.

“Oh look, there’s Mama.” Eloise pointed with her fan to a
table in a corner.

Isabella heard Midge sigh under his breath as he took his
seat at the table and fiddled with the deck of cards whilst looking out the
window. Isabella, meanwhile, watched the door. She’d heard a great deal about
Livia Denier who, because of her spectacular beauty, was rumoured to be kept
under lock and key by her parents. Of course, keeping her hidden had the
opposite effect on the ship’s community, in that whenever she was allowed out
in public there was always a fuss or a little ripple of interest wherever she
went. It looked like tonight was going to be no exception. Lady Denier, stern
in high-necked-grey lace, had tried to enter surreptitiously, but all around
the room people had stopped what they were doing to watch her progress. Though
of course it wasn’t Lady Denier they were watching – it was her daughter.

Livia Denier had the prettiest face Isabella had ever
seen. She was like a porcelain doll with pale skin unmarked by sun or wind and
huge blue eyes framed by long black lashes. Her nose was small and straight and
her mouth was shaped like a rosebud. But it was her hair that was so
extraordinary; neither white nor gold but a combination of the two, it fell in
a shining mass halfway down her back, drawing in all the light around it to
form a sort of halo. Tonight it sat in a loose bun on top of her slender neck,
a nod to the fact she was seventeen and nearly an adult. The girl who walked
behind her wore bottle green. As the girls took their seats at the table, the
low hum of conversation resumed. Lady Denier tapped Livia sharply on her
shoulder.

“I will be back for you in thirty minutes.”

“But we were going to play cards.” Livia’s eyes were wide
with pleading. Isabella wondered how her mother could resist her.

“Thirty minutes, Olivia.”

Livia’s head dropped.

“Yes, Mama.”

Eloise, for once, remembered her manners.

“This is Livia Denier and this is Rose Pelham.”

The girls smiled at Isabella.

“We’ve heard all about the adventure you had with Princess
Alix,” said Livia. “How exciting Eloise could introduce us.

“By the way, Livia, how did you manage to ditch your
governess” asked Rose.

 “Miss Flynn has met with a nasty case of Delhi belly.”

“She was all right this afternoon,” said Rose frowning.

Rose’s face reminded Isabella of a monkey’s in that the
distance between her chin and her forehead wasn’t very great, which gave her a
squashed appearance. Her skin was sallow and her chin-length hair was the vague
shade between brown and blonde. Her small olive eyes never stopped moving.

Livia took an amber cordial from a tray offered to her.

“Yes, but she was struck down very quickly. I don’t like her,
but even I felt sorry for her. I even gave her some medicine from one of the
stewards.” Livia sipped her drink.

“What did you give her?” Isabella asked without thinking.

Livia looked a little surprised. “It was melon stalk and
the steward said it would work like ipecac.”

“Ugh,” said Eloise. “I almost feel sorry for her, too.
Ipecac is the worst.”

Isabella smiled and relaxed a little now the conversation
was on more familiar ground.

“The very worst,” she offered. “But you can stop ipecac
working if you want to, by drinking cow’s milk.”

“Really?” Rose’s tone was cool and her eyes slid sideways
to Isabella. “I had no idea. How did you know that?”

“My ayah was a healer.”

“What’s an ayah?” asked Rose. “What a funny word.”

Livia sat up. “It’s an Indian name for a nanny, isn’t it,
Isabella?” She seemed very pleased she’d known the answer.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So did she teach you all her secrets?” Eloise’s
expression was hungry and she shuffled closer to her. Isabella was overwhelmed
by the smell of lemon hair wash. Typically Eloise had never shown an interest
up until now. “Do you know, Isabella, how to make a love potion?”

“Eloise!” Livia nudged Eloise’s yellow flank with her
elbow. “Is that all you can think about?” She inclined her head to the other
side of the room where a table of six young officers cast glances in their
direction.

Isabella was glad the room was dark so her pink cheeks
would be less noticeable.

“Which one is he?”

“The one with the moustache,” replied Eloise breathlessly,
“but don’t look straight at him or he will know we’re talking about him.”

Isabella smiled to herself. She knew some stories she
could tell Eloise. Many daughters of officers would make the journey to India to find themselves a husband. Many of them became engaged before the journey was
over. More than once she’d heard her father speak of the “husband-hunters” in
an angry tone.

“Why do they make you so cross, Papa?” She’d been eleven.
“Isn’t it nice for them to have wives with them?”

Her father had peered at her over his paper-strewn desk.

“Not when I’ve got to look after a new wife as well as a
new soldier. You know how hard it can be for the new men out here. Imagine what
it’s like for the women. Most of them are little more than girls.”

All the British soldiers posted to their camp were felled
by the heat; heat that chewed them up and spat them out. They would either die
of dysentery or plain old heatstroke; or they survived and became thinner and
tougher, their eyes permanently narrowed against the sun. These were the men who
would make India their home.

Men like her father.

Isabella glanced over at the group around the card table
again. They looked so young, their skin pink and white, their faces smooth and
unlined.

“Like lambs to the slaughter,” she murmured, unaware for a
moment that she had spoken aloud.

“Did you say something?” Rose was leaning in towards her
with a funny look on her face.

Isabella’s cheeks flamed again. “No, sorry. I was miles
away.” She reached for her drink, hoping to hide her confusion.

Livia handed her some cards.

“Here you are, I’ll show you what to do.”

“I say, if we took you to that bazaar thingy, could you
try and make me a love potion?”

Isabella laughed and the others laughed with her; the
awkward moment was broken.

“Yes, Eloise. All right.”

“Excellent. Tomorrow after breakfast, then?” Eloise turned
to Livia. “Will your mother let you come if Mama chaperones us?”

Livia took a deep breath.

“She might. I can try.”

“I heard you was engaged, Miss Livia.” Midge was
organising his cards so he didn’t notice Livia’s hands go still and Rose’s eyes
snap upwards, like a turtle’s.

“Who told you that?”

Midge put down a queen.

“I think it was Billy Leadbetter.”

Isabella kicked Midge under the table. Livia’s eyes jumped
to where her mother sat with Lady Molesey and took a deep breath.

“It’s all right, Isabella. He’s right.”

“Livia!” Rose’s voice was shocked and her little eyes
moved this way and that from worry.

“I know, Rose. You and I have talked of it, but I want to
see what Isabella thinks.”

“About what?”

“About my arranged marriage.”

“I heard you got a picture,” said Midge placing a jack
down on the table.

Isabella frowned. Where did he get his information from?
Livia looked at Rose who burrowed in her pockets and took out a miniature and
gave it to Livia. Wordlessly Livia handed it to Isabella. It was of a man in
full army dress. He was mostly in profile but there was no mistaking the
ice-cream slump of his shoulders or the caving of the cheeks around the beaky
nose; the sunken eyes. Isabella swallowed and looked back at Livia.

“He’s too old for you.”

Maybe Livia had been expecting her to say something polite
and Isabella’s directness caught her unawares, but Livia’s chin wobbled and
crimson crept up her neck to her face.

“Now look what you’ve done,” hissed Rose. She fished out a
handkerchief.

“I haven’t done anything. Why would Livia, who looks as if
she could marry anyone she likes, have to marry this old man?” Isabella could
feel her cheeks growing hot with the injustice of it.

“Because he’s a duke,” hissed Rose again.

“So?” Isabella glared at Rose. She didn’t like the way
Rose looked at her.

Livia’s voice was like rain on glass.

“I was supposed to marry his son, but he died of the
cholera and left his father with no heirs. I am to provide some more. Or so I understand.”
There was silence. Rose took Livia’s hand. “Mama keeps me under lock and key so
I’m delivered safely.” There was another pause. “I’m worth a lot of money.”
Livia’s face was bleak, all the prettiness drained from it, and Isabella had a
premonition of what she might look like after a life in India, married to an
old man, her infant children buried in the unforgiving Indian ground. Isabella
shivered.

“Look out, now.”

Midge’s urgent mutter brought her attention back to the
table. Lady Denier stood next to them, stately like the figurehead of a ship.

“Bedtime, Livia.”

Livia flushed again with embarrassment and Isabella’s
heart went out to her. She and Rose left the table. The whole room stopped to
watch as they did so.

Isabella and Midge stayed playing until the candles burnt
down. The wind outside had dropped and the orange shadows grew longer as the
flames guttered in the lanterns. Isabella pushed her chair back and stretched.
The conversation on the table behind washed over her. It was a moment before
she realised the men were speaking Hindi. They sounded drunk.

“Go on then, man. Show it to us.”

“Shhhh.”

There was a smothered laugh and Isabella nudged Midge’s
foot with her own and inclined her head backwards. Midge pushed himself up so
he could see over the crimson rim of her high-backed chair and she peered
around its edge.

“Go on.” There was more laughter. “Give it to me.” There
was a gasp and the sound of a small object rolling on the polished floor and
then Isabella felt something come to rest against her shoe. As she bent to pick
it up it was as if the world around her receded. Her fingers closed around the
object’s heavy coolness, felt its weight as it sat, entirely satisfying; a
perfect fit in her closed fist.

She brought her hand close to the lantern so she could
have a closer look, but she’d known what it was from the moment she’d set eyes
on it.