Fever Quest: A Clean Historical Mystery set in England and India (The Isabella Rockwell Trilogy Book 2) (6 page)

“I’m sure that will be lovely” Isabella answered for her.

“Excellent.” Captain Lucas helped the girls from their
carriage and then strode back to the guesthouse.

“What did you do that for?” Eloise looked horrified.

Livia sat up. “Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t you want to be
able to see him?”

Eloise slumped. “Yes, but not all the time, especially not
first thing in the morning.”

Livia laughed. “Cheer up, you goose. At least you’ll have
someone to kill mosquitoes for you.”

Eloise gave a pale smile.

“Or Isabella could make you another
special
potion.” Rose’s spiteful whisper came to Isabella on the thick evening air.

Two evenings later the carriages drew to a halt in
the dust at the centre of a prosperous town and they were shown into a pleasant
hotel. When Isabella came down from her room for dinner, everyone was already
seated at a long table; the only empty chair was between Mrs Rodriguez and
Colonel Denier, who’d met them at Masulipatam.

Livia stood up.

“Isabella? Come and sit here.”

“Oh no, Livia. It’s all right. I can sit here.”

“No, no!” Livia’s tone was urgent. “There’s chair here.
Rose can move up.”

Isabella wondered if she was the only one who saw the
anger on Rose’s face. Every time Livia was kind to Isabella or included her in
something, Rose’s face became a thundercloud. She ate her dinner in silence,
but the lamb tasted dry and the rice was too sticky. She’d eaten more than
Livia, however, who was pushing her food around her plate to make it look as if
she’d eaten something.

“At least have some fruit,” Isabella said, cutting a fig
and pushing it towards Livia. “You’ll get sick.”

Before pudding, Eloise got out the little bottle of
crimson liquid Isabella had made for her. In the light of the candles it was as
dark as blood. The room’s attention was on a lady playing the piano in front of
the fireplace and Eloise kicked Isabella under the table and gestured to
Captain Lucas’s glass.

“Go on then,” Isabella hissed.

Biting her lip, Eloise unstoppered the bottle and poured
half of it into Captain Lucas’s glass with a movement that disturbed the air as
little as the fluttering of a moth. But it was enough to catch Rose’s attention
and her eyes narrowed.

“Did I put in enough?” Eloise looked a bit overwhelmed.

Isabella smiled. “More than enough, I should think.”

Eloise’s face fell. “Have I given him too much?”

Isabella shook her head. “No. That was perfect.” There was
a pause. “Why does Rose hate me?” Isabella whispered.

Eloise looked thoughtful for a moment.

“She doesn’t hate you, but she might be jealous of you.”

Isabella waited until a trill of notes filled the room
before answering.

“Jealous? What can I possibly have that she would want?”

Eloise’s eyes had stopped darting around the table now she
was sure no one had noticed what she’d done to the captain’s drink.

“Livia’s friendship. Or your freedom, your looks, your
heroism. There’s actually quite a lot.” It was a long and unusually observant
speech from Eloise. The music came to a halt. “But my money would be on her
worrying you’ll take Livia’s friendship from her.”

“But why can’t we all be friends together?”

Eloise sighed and looked back over one satin-clad shoulder
at Isabella. Her face was sad, its usual prettiness dimmed.

“Rose won’t let anyone be closer to Livia than she is.
They’ve been friends since childhood and Rose treasures that position in
Livia’s life. Livia means everything to her.” She paused. “It’s not like she
has much else.”

“What’s she going to do when Livia marries?”

But Eloise was smiling at Captain Lucas from behind her
fan and didn’t hear. For the first time since she’d met Rose, Isabella felt
sorry for her. Abhaya had always said:
“Because, baba, they are so lonely.
They grow angry if they think they are losing a friend and so they hold on even
harder, not realising the object of their love will pull away even further. To
avoid jealousy one must first love oneself. Then others can love you. These
people do not love themselves.”
It was only now that Isabella could
understand what she had meant. Livia asking her to share her room must have
been the last straw. She shouldn’t have accepted

The room felt close and the scent of lilies on the table
made her feel sick. A sudden wave of tiredness came over her. She pushed her
chair to stand.

“Good luck,” she said to Eloise with as much of a smile as
she could muster, then she left the room and went upstairs.

When she woke with a start in the middle of the night, she
thought it was because Livia had cried out. But Livia was silent, her breathing
even. Isabella padded to the window where the white muslin curtain floated a
little in a draught, but when she looked outside the leaves were still. A cat
jumped onto the roof opposite, regarding her with its yellow eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re looking at.”

The cat didn’t move.

“Isabella, wake up!”

Shreds of sleep clung to her eyelids as she focused on
Eloise’s worried face.

“What? What is it?”

“It’s Captain Lucas. He’s –” Eloise gagged on the word.
“He’s ill. He’s been up all night according to the housekeeper. Oh, Isabella.”
Her eyes were wild. “Have I poisoned him?”

Isabella frowned and pulled on her cotton robe.

“Why would you have poisoned him?” Her head was still
fuzzy and her thoughts slow in organising themselves.

“Because he drank the potion.”

Isabella shook her head, wide awake now. She took Eloise
by her white-cotton-clad shoulders.

“There is nothing in the potion that would cause him to be
ill, even if he had drunk the whole bottle.”

“But then why is he?” wailed Eloise.

“Hush, you’ll wake Livia. Come on.”

They tiptoed across the landing and hid out of sight of
the landing below, where a group of men stood around the door to Captain
Lucas’s room. The bedroom door opened and closed.

“What do you think, sir?”

The man addressed was an elderly soldier, with bleached
white hair and skin burnt the colour of teak – the kind of man who had been in India all his life. He shook his head.

“I’m very sorry, gentlemen, but Captain Lucas is gravely
ill.”

“But … but what is wrong with him, sir? He was well
last night. How could he become so ill so quickly?”

“He’s been poisoned by wolfsbane. He has all the symptoms.
I’m sorry. The best we can do now is to make him comfortable and hope he makes
it through the next twenty-four hours.”

Isabella sat back on her haunches. Wolfsbane? Where had he
got wolfsbane from? A barely discernible prickle of fear ran up her spine and
she frowned to herself. Eloise was crying, large round tears splashing down her
cheeks, but she made no noise. Isabella stood up and returned to her room,
Eloise following behind her.

Livia was awake.

“I say, you two, you’re up early. Why, Eloise, whatever is
the matter?”

But Isabella didn’t answer. She was too busy pulling
Abhaya’s medicine pouch from her father’s bag and unfolding it across the bed.
Her fingers shook as she pulled the tiny, dry blue flowers from their pocket.
She’d had five of them and now there were one, two, three, four … Her
fingers scrabbled about in the bottom of the pocket, but found nothing. Only
four flowers where once there had been five.

“What are you looking for?” asked Eloise, understanding
slowly crossing her face. “You didn’t … ? It wasn’t … ?”

“Of course not,” Isabella snapped. “Not on purpose.” Her
fingers continued searching, rooting each herb out of every pocket, hoping she
was wrong.

“What’s ‘not on purpose’?” Livia’s face was still as she
watched Isabella sift through her remedies.

“Captain Lucas is dying. They are saying he’s been
poisoned.” Eloise was now at the gulping stage.

“For God’s sake, Eloise, be quiet and let me think.”
Isabella ran through all that she had placed in the preparation. She’d used
rosemary, mullein, ginger, star anise, oil of cloves, cinnamon and … She
frowned as she grasped for the last ingredient. Borage. A small blue flower.

Just like wolfsbane.

Her stomach disappeared.

She must have got them muddled, despite Abhaya’s strict
teaching. The hours she’d spent showing Isabella how to keep all her remedies
separate; how to scrub her hands with tincture of iodine after making any
medicine that contained a poison. How each remedy required a list of
ingredients to be ticked off one at a time, so accidents like this
couldn’t
happen. And Isabella had stuck to this always. Or so she had thought.

Her thoughts must have played themselves out across her
face because Livia spoke.

“You made a mistake.”

Isabella looked down at the herbs spread across the bed, a
mess of dried leaves and flowers. How could these things do so much damage?
Then she nodded.

“I must have.” Her hands were limp in her lap. There was
no antidote to wolfsbane. Everyone knew that. You just had to hope the person
hadn’t taken enough to kill them. Her lips felt numb. “I must have put them
back in the wrong pockets on the boat.”

“You must have.” Livia’s face was expressionless.

Isabella pushed herself up to standing. She felt dizzy and
sick and her tongue felt too big for her mouth.

“I’d better go and tell them.”

“Tell who?” asked Livia.

Isabella looked at her.

“Tell the captain’s friends and Mrs Rodriguez.”

She took a step towards the door, past the crouching damp
heap that was Eloise, but Livia was too quick for her and barred her way.

“No.”

Isabella looked at her dumbly.

“No? What on earth do you mean?”

“I don’t think you should. You’ll get into too much
trouble. God! You might even be hanged if he dies. No one knows about the
potion, except us, and we won’t tell anyone.”

Isabella looked at Eloise and then back at Livia, lost for
words.

“You didn’t mean to poison him. It’s not your fault he
drank the potion – I assume that’s what happened?” Livia glanced at Eloise who
nodded, whilst still looking at the floor.

“But won’t they work out it’s me?” Isabella’s hand was
still reaching for the door handle. Could they get away with it? She withdrew
her hand.

“Not if we don’t tell them.” Livia seemed very sure of
herself. Her blue eyes were cool and her expression calculating. “Why don’t we
wait and see if he gets better?

She swept across the room just as the door opened. It was
Rose.

“I say, have you heard about Captain Lucas?”

Isabella still stood by the door, her mind told her to go
downstairs and confess, yet her feet stayed glued to the ground. Images of
Midge and her father crashed in on each other. Livia was now sitting on the
bed, sweeping the herbs back into the pouch and giving Rose a quick rundown of
what had happened.

“So none of us will ever speak of this again, not even
when we are all together, as you never know who could be listening.”

Rose’s eyes were round and shocked as she looked at Livia
and back at Isabella. Then she nodded.

“All right.”

Isabella moved the rocking chair back and forth on
the landing above Captain Lucas’s room. It had been six hours since they’d
woken and the local doctor had just arrived. The door opened and one of the
maids came up the stairs.

“The young sahib?” Isabella asked hopefully, but the maid
shook her head and snatched some clean towels from a cupboard and hurried back
downstairs.

Isabella stared into space thinking of everything and
nothing. When muffled chimes told her another hour had passed, the door opened
again. She pressed her head to the banister. The doctor and the old soldier
were smiling at Captain Lucas’s friends. Only then did the iron vice clamped
around her heart relax a little.

As Captain Lucas’s health improved over the next couple of
days and he could finally take a turn with Eloise around the garden, so
Isabella relaxed further, but every now and again understanding reasserted
itself and caught her as surely as a fist in the stomach. She’d been careless,
sloppy – distracted by her need to impress her new friends, and this man had
nearly paid the price with his life. Even worse, Abhaya’s voice had fallen
silent, as if the thread that connected them had snapped under the weight of
her deceit.

She excused herself from dinner that night, pleading a
headache, and sat on her bed, gazing at the moon. Then she took out Abhaya’s
pouch and fingered it, as if she’d never really seen it before. Opening the
soft cotton roll, she emptied all the herbs out of her bedroom window. A
sighing wind took them and in a moment, all her medicines were gone.

Isabella wrapped the pouch back up in Abhaya’s orange sari
with her mother’s picture and Alix’s ring and slipped it into a hiding place in
the lining of her father’s satchel. Her healing days were over. She wasn’t like
Abhaya. She had thought she was. The pride she’d taken in her achievements
trickled away as she looked at herself in the mirror and realised she was still
plain old Isabella Rockwell. Not a hero, but an average girl, not even able to
own up to her wrongdoing.

Completely unremarkable.

Her face in the mirror hardened and she turned
away from her reflection as a coil of disgust tightened around her chest.

Eloise and Lady Molesey had stayed with Captain Lucas
and were to join them in a couple of days. Isabella’s thoughts were far away
when the Hawa Mahal, the Castle of Winds, finally rose above them like a
spider’s web made of mother of pearl and lace. The tiny windows were barely
visible, but the chattering of the women and children who sat behind them could
be clearly heard. It might have been a vast birdhouse, thought Isabella as
their carriage rolled underneath its gate and into the city. They were staying
at the home of the governor of the district, but after the ornate beauty of the
Castle of Winds, the white-pillared Residency looked very ordinary. Still,
the gardens were nice, with emerald-green sloping lawns and flower beds a
waterfall of different colours.

“I see our hostess still gardens as much here as she did
in England,” remarked Lady Denier with a jealous tone.

As they drew up to the front door, another carriage was
standing to one side, its horses sleepy in the heat. The groom looked familiar
and the horses, one of them a chestnut with one white sock, made Isabella think
of the day they had left the Port of Masulipatam.

“I think that’s the Jefferies’ carriage,” she said
quietly.

Only Rose heard her and darted her a look.

The Residency’s hall was airy and cool, with a
black-and-white marble floor. A fan whirled above them; the servant operating
it sat outside on the porch, the fan rope tied to one of his toes. In the
moment they stood assembled waiting to be greeted, Isabella heard crying.

Lady Denier was fussing with her wrap.

“Well, this isn’t much of a welcome.”

“Did you hear that?” Isabella whispered to Livia.

Livia shook her head. “What?”

“Someone’s crying.”

There was the clip-clop of shoes on marble and their
hostess appeared, red-faced and flustered.

“Welcome, everyone. I do apologise for not being here to
greet you immediately, but we have had something of an upset.”

“Has something happened to the Jefferies?” asked Isabella.

The governor’s wife, a tall lady in a sensible brown
cotton dress, turned to look at her.

“Are you Isabella Rockwell?”

Fear crept up her chest and around her shoulders.

“Yes.”

“You’d better come with me.”

Her face was unreadable and Isabella looked at Livia who
drew closer to her and put a hand on her arm.

“Shall I come with you?”

Isabella shook her head and followed their hostess from
the hall. They continued into a pleasant room lined with books and thick green
pot plants which provided shade from the sun. Sitting on one of the brown
leather sofas was Mrs Jefferies, looking tearstained. On seeing Isabella, she
burst into a fresh round of tears. Mr Jefferies stood and drew Isabella into
the room.

“Come and sit down, my dear.”

Isabella didn’t like the look of any of this.

“Where’s Midge?” she asked, at which Mrs Jefferies let out
a wail.

“Oh, Isabella, I don’t know how to tell you this.” Her
words were forced out through hiccups and gulps for air.

Isabella turned to Mr Jefferies.

“Where is he?” Her voice was calm but her heart hammered
so hard she thought it might jump from her mouth.

“We don’t know,” said Mr Jefferies, turning to his wife.
“Agatha, please.”

“What do you mean?” Isabella felt as if time had stopped.

“He’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

Mr Jefferies picked up her hand. “We don’t know. We
arrived here last night and went to bed, but he didn’t come down this morning.
When we went to check on him, his bed was empty.”

“And cold,” wept Mrs Jefferies.

“There was this, however.” Mr Jefferies held out a note
written in a flowery hand. It was addressed to her. With shaking hands she took
it. “It was on the mantelpiece in his bedroom. We’ve searched for clues and the
governor’s best trackers have been out since breakfast, but we’ve found
nothing.” The note had a red wax seal stamped with an eagle its wings
outstretched. “I would have opened it, but we heard you were stopping here too.
We thought we should wait. It is addressed to you, after all. If you need our help,
please just say, otherwise we might continue to Simla. Mrs Jefferies needs to
get home.”

Isabella looked at Mrs Jefferies who did indeed look
unhinged, sobbing and gulping and looking into the distance, her hands twisting
in her lap.

Mr Jefferies caught her glance. “Our son died, you know. A
boy of Midge’s age.