Fever Quest: A Clean Historical Mystery set in England and India (The Isabella Rockwell Trilogy Book 2) (21 page)

Livia had still not let go of her arm.

“I can’t wait to hear all about it. Do you think you’re up
to it tonight?” Livia looked at Mother Muckerjee, who nodded.

“Maybe after she has eaten and had a bath. Rose, why don’t
you go and get Isabella’s companions. There is plenty of room for them to stay
here, and for the animals, too.”

“I will go with you.” John Rockwell said starting back
down the path.

“Don’t start talking about anything until I get
back, though,” said Rose, then she called to Rat who followed her out of the
gate, pausing only to look at a yellow cat crouched under a hibiscus bush.

The bathwater was scented with lilies and Isabella
marvelled at her clean toes and fingernails. Livia had not left the bath house
but sat on the edge of the tub and talked non-stop whilst Isabella washed and put
on a clean clothes. Livia had offered her a sari, but she’d refused and took
instead an old set of Rose’s tunics and dhotis. She’d grown used to them and
found them comfortable. Anyway, then she could wear a scarf around her head and
no one would think anything of it. Isabella let Livia’s chatter run on like a
river. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to hear it, it was just she had no energy
to reply. It was as if the last few weeks were a dream, but a dream that had
drained her of all the energy she possessed.

Her father was alive and his memory was back.

That alone was still extraordinary to her, as she’d grown
used to dragging her grief around behind her like a trunk. She wondered how
long it would take before she truly believed it.

“Are you listening to me?”

Isabella looked at Livia a little more closely, who was
even more beautiful than before, if such a thing were possible. Her face had
narrowed from the malaria – or as the result of eating rice and vegetables
instead of the heavy meat-rich dishes of England. But there was something more
than that. Livia’s colour was hectic, her cheeks flushed easily and her eyes
were dark and wide as she told of how she and Rose had searched for Mother
Muckerjee’s house.

“Are you ill?”

Livia stopped mid-sentence.

“No.” She went even more pink. “I’m fine.” She paused.
“I’m just glad to see you.”

Isabella narrowed her eyes and finished drying her sparse
crop of hair.

“Come on. Let’s go and see if the others are here.”

“I’m just going to get something,” said Livia,
branching off to a room behind the bath house.

Mother Muckerjee’s bungalow was square and low with a
garden at its centre. Hundreds of medicinal plants grew here, green and grey
and blue in the starlight. A tiny stream ran through the garden at the back,
bringing the sound of water over the rustling green foliage. A table was set
for dinner with candles and wine. Mother Muckerjee sat there by herself, the
yellow cat in her lap, a pipe smoking in the ashtray next to her. Isabella put
her hand out to stroke him and he narrowed his orange eyes with pleasure.

“So you want to know about your seeds?”

Isabella nodded.

“I can’t wait. I don’t want Al Hassan to have died in
vain.”

Mother Muckerjee smiled a gentle smile.

“I would feel the same.” She stroked the cat. “Al Hassan
was right to trust you.”

Isabella smiled sadly.

“He was my friend.”

Mother Muckerjee tipped the cat from her lap and stood.

“Come.”

Isabella followed her through a thick patch of blue
flowers as tall as the height of her chin. Against a low brick wall was a wide
patch of freshly turned black earth. Mother Muckerjee pulled up a tiny stool
and sat down on it, then she reached down and showed Isabella the new green
shoots against the back of her hand.

“Here they are. We have eight growing trees. One seed did
not germinate, but I am very pleased with the ones we have. They are strong and
vigorous plants. They will make it to adulthood, I think.”

Isabella squatted down.

“So much loss for such small things,” she said as she
looked at the curling shoots no taller than her thumb. She hadn’t realised
she’d spoken out loud.

“It would be easy to think that if you hadn’t already seen
the power of this medicine. Livia would certainly not have survived. You know
this.”

Mother Muckerjee clamped the pipe between her teeth and
took a deep pull. The fragrant smoke curled around Isabella’s head in the humid
air.

“My whole life I have been trying to get the seeds of this
plant. What fortunate wind blew you and Al Hassan to me, I will never know.
Maybe it’s my reward for a life well-lived.”

Her smile was that of a much younger woman and she
chuckled and wheezed, as if she’d made a good joke. Isabella looked up at her.
Mother Muckerjee smiled and the grasses around her blew silver and grey. A
shadow crossed the doorway to the bungalow, and to Isabella’s amazement and
utter delight Al Hassan raised his arm at her as he came down the path with
Livia.

Then came Rose, Midge and Vritra, white-faced and amazed,
being helped by her father. Rat weaved with pleasure between their feet. Isabella
looked back at Mother Muckerjee, who was nodding and smiling to herself.

“I think I will ask cook for some more food. There is much
to tell and be told. It will be a long night.”

Two young women sat astride their horses on a high
rocky outcrop. They both carried light rifles and their saddle bags were
tightly packed, as if for a journey. A brown-and-black dog with only one ear
sat next to them. Below them an imperial cavalry train moved at a snail’s pace
through the yellow grasses of the plain.

“If they go any slower they’ll go backwards,” said one of
the women, retying her scarf around her mouth and nose.

Another rider cantered up beside them. His horse danced
beneath him, but he stayed still, graceful in the saddle.

One of the women made a horrified face.

“Captain Rockwell! What are you doing here? Her Majesty
will be at the camp in a couple of hours and you’re not even dressed.”

The man smiled.

“All in good time, Rose. Look how slow they are. Anyway,
Al Hassan has the camp under control. The men are as clean and sparkling as
they will ever be. There’s no more we can do. I thought I’d come and see the
spectacle. Isn’t that right, Isabella?”

The other young woman didn’t reply, however, her
binoculars trained on the plain below.

“Mmm?”

“Ignore her,” said Rose. “She’s made no sense all day.”

“I know,” said John Rockwell with a smile in his voice. “I
haven’t the heart to tease her about it any more.”

“You know nothing,” said the young woman in reply, but she
was not angry. This was an old conversation and one they were both used to.
“You’ll be begging my pardon by tonight, though.”

“
If
she recognises you.”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

The young woman with the binoculars looked at the older
man. The likeness between them was clear, both with their narrow fox faces and
stubborn chins, but the man had light hazel eyes and the young woman’s were
darker.

The noise of hooves distracted them from their argument. A
blond young man, sweating in full ceremonial dress, rode up, breathless.

“Iz?” The tone of his voice got her attention immediately.
“I just heard the Jhansi Women’s Army arrived in Delhi three days ago.”

Isabella’s face went white.

“But they weren’t supposed to be there for another week.”

Midge looked worried.

“I know, but they came early. They crossed from China to keep ahead of the snow.”

Isabella glanced at Rose, whose face was calm.

“When do they leave?”

“In a week. They’re seeing recruits in five days.”

Isabella hung her head and fastened her eyes back on the
column beneath her, though she didn’t see them.

“We’d have to leave now.”

Midge nodded, his eyes wide and sad.

Isabella swallowed.

“But Zachariah’s down there.”

Her father urged his horse up next to her, the horse’s
flank warm against her leg.

“I know he is, but his regiment will be with Her Majesty
all the time. If you go to Delhi today, you may get the chance to see her
later. On down the road, as it were. Maybe before Bombay.”

Isabella’s eyes filled with tears which she dashed away
with a furious hand.

“But I wanted to see them now. I wanted them to meet Livia
and Al Hassan and their children. I wanted to see Lily, all grown-up …”
She gulped and stuck out her chin.

Her father put his hand on her shoulder. His eyes were
kind, the deep lines around them fanning white.

“What we want is not always the same as what we ought to
do.” His horse shifted in the stony ground, sending up a small cloud of dust.
“It’s a very hard lesson.” He paused. “Do you want Midge and me to ride with
you?”

Isabella shook her head.

“Very well.” He leaned across and held on to her tightly.
“They will be lucky to have you,” he whispered. Then he rode down the gentle
slope of the hill behind them without looking back.

Midge’s self-control wasn’t quite so strong and his tears
overflowed.

“You know where I’ll be.”

Isabella nodded. If she spoke she would cry again, so she
said nothing. Midge’s horse trotted slowly off after John Rockwell’s.

Rose squinted up at the sun.

“We’ve got a couple of hours, you know. We could just dash
down and say hello and then go.”

Isabella looked down at the steep rocky face beneath them.

“What? Down there?” she said, gazing at the almost
perpendicular drop. It was rideable – but only just.

Rose adjusted her rifle and leaned down to tighten her
girth.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared, Rockwell?” she drawled,
flashing a grin.

Isabella lifted her scarf around her mouth again, and
pulled it tight behind her head. Cobra fidgeted, the bells on his reins
jingling as she rode to the edge of the hill. Rat shifted his weight from one
front paw to the other. She turned her head to Rose, whose eyes were alight
with excitement.

“I’ll go you one better, Pelham.”

“Oh yeah?” Rose was laughing.

“Yeah.” Isabella squeezed her heels into Cobra’s side and
he leapt forward.

“I’ll race you!”