Nurse in India (6 page)

CHAPTER
FIVE

In
a second
her nursing training reasserted itself, and dropping to her knees she groped for his wrist and felt h
is
pulse, which to her infinite relief beat faintly. She notice
d
in that same instant that he was breathing heavily and: swiftly, and with the aid
of a pocket flashlight looked at his eyes. The pupils—diminished to mere pinpoints—told their own story. He had been drugged—given a strong narcotic that might take hours to work off.

W
ho was responsible? The old rani, for a certainty. True, she had, like herself, spent the evening watching the fire drama. But she had a score of servants who would not dare to disobey her orders. It was doubtful if even Jeythoo, loyal as she was, would have the courage to defy her.

She went out into the corridor and called for servants to help her, and a few minutes later Armand had been carried, still in a coma, into a nearby room and deposited on a, divan. She must attend to him, try to force him back to consciousness, but first she must see how Prithviraj was
faring.

A glance at the child showed her that much of the good work she had accomplished, since beginning to look after him, had been undone during her brief absence. He, too
,
had been given a narcotic, though in a very much smaller
quantity; the same noxious preparation, no doubt, with which the old rani had been trying to cure him before her advent. And so angry did she feel that had the old woman been standing there before her she would have been strongly tempted to do her some physical injury.

It was better, she decided, to leave the boy to sleep off the drug, but Armand must certainly be brought around. And after half an hour of drastic tre
a
tment she succeeded in rousing him sufficiently to whisper a few words. There had been something funny about the coffee, he muttered;
he
had felt queer soon after drinking it and had staggered
to th
e doorway for air—only to collapse. She would never
forgive
him, he supposed, for it was the second time he had
let
her down by his idiocy. Rather ironical, considering
he
would rather please her than anyone—anyone—
he
broke off in the middle of the halting sentence, too
dr
owsy to continue. With a groan of utter weariness, she
pull
ed him to his feet, and throwing one of his arms
arou
nd her shoulders, forced him to walk up and down the
r
oo
m
. Midnight came and still she was working on him, bullying him into moving about, slapping his pallid face
with
wet handkerchiefs. And then a curious thing happened. She had the odd and disturbing feeling that she was
be
ing watched, and wheeling around in the direction of the doorway she met the burning eyes of the old rani. The
g
lance they exchanged was like a rapier thrust, and in that Instant Stella knew that in Chawand Rao
’
s aunt—the widow of that former raja about whom such terrible things were spoken—she had found a fierce and implacable enemy. So long as she was in the palace, she would have to be ceaselessly on her guard.

Before she could speak to her the old woman had vanished, and as before, only the faint perfume of sandalwood remained as witness of her presence.

It was nearly dawn before she thought it safe to leave Armand and go to bed, and even then she dared not sleep. Always she was straining her ears for a stealthy footfall and fancying that she saw a veiled figure gliding toward the child
’
s bed.

As soon as she was up and dressed, she sent a message to Chawand Rao, begging him to come to see her at the first possible moment. A few minutes later he arrived calm and unhurried as usual, on the surface, but with a look of keen anxiety in his eyes.

“The child?” he queried steadily.

“He
’
s no worse—although he was given some sort of a sleeping draft last night while I was out
.
”

The Indian
’
s expression altered, surprise followed swiftly by blazing anger. “You mean—”

“Wait a moment. I want you to come and see Armand Verle. The person who drugged Prithviraj very nearly finished off his tutor.”

Without a word he followed her into the room where Armand was lying, still pale and heavy eyed but fully conscious. He gave the Frenchman a courteous greeting an
d
then, bending over him, peered into his eyes.

“Opium,” he said briefly, as he straightened himself and then stood for a full two minutes in silence, pondering deeply.

Surely he
’
s not foolish enough to be in doubt who responsible for this,
Stella thought impatiently, and th
e
next instant realized that whatever Chawand Rao might think of his royal aunt, he would not discuss her with strangers.

“I shall put a strong guard on all these rooms,” he said at last. “And after I have spoken to them, they
will not dare admit
anyone
who might disobey your orders. To certain others, too, commands will be given, and I can promise you that there will be no further incidents of thi
s
nature.”

“I
’
m glad to hear it.” Stella spoke bluntly. “With the prince
’
s crisis coming nearer and nearer, I can
’
t afford to have any more sleepless nights—working the whole time.”

“Nor shall you,” Chawand Rao assured her. And then he asked, frowning, “Has your friend Miss Jellings sent you the medical supplies you asked for?”

Stella shook her head. “Not yet, and it
’
s beginning to worry me. I need them badly.”

“Then perhaps, Verle, you
’
ll make the effort and drive over to Ghasirabad today to get them.” Chawand Rao
’
s tone was suave but resolute. “After what happened las
t
night you will be glad of a break—uncomfortable though the journey is, alas!” He paused for a second, fastening his eyes on the Frenchman. “I know I need not ask you to refrain from talking to your friends of your unpleasant experiences last night.”

“It
’
s all just as you please, Your Highness.” Armand
’
s tone was weary. “I
’
ll go willingly, so long as Miss Hantley will be properly looked after—”

The raja gave a faint, ironic smile. “I think I can guard her as well as you have done hitherto,” he observed coolly, and salaaming gravely left them.

“That
’
s a nasty one for me!” Armand achieved a rueful grin. Then as Stella turned to go, he put out a detaining
hand.
“Just a minute, Stella. I haven
’
t thanked you half
en
ough for what you did for me last night. You were an
absol
ute angel.”

“Angels don
’
t usually administer emetics, surely.” Her eyes twinkled.

“
Don
’
t laugh at me, sweet.” A pleading note had crept
into
his voice. “I know that you
’
ve no use on earth for me;
and
Roger Fendish is the lucky devil who—”

“How dare you talk such utter rubbish?” The color
was
hed into Stella
’
s face.

“It isn
’
t rubbish. I only wish it were.” In. spite of her
effo
rts to free herself, he still held her by the wrist. “Oh, S
tell
a, haven
’
t you guessed that ever since I met you, I
’
ve
bee
n crazy about you?”

With a final jerk she wrenched her
h
and free. “Non
se
nse! We
’
ve only known each other a matter of days.”

“And how long have you been acquainted with Fendish? Weeks? Months?”

I
feel as though there was never a time when Roger and I were strangers,
she thought with a rush of emotion that was bittersweet. But she said, coolly enough, “That drug seems to be taking a long time to wear off. The kindest
thing
I can do for you is to get you some more strong coffee,” and swept indignantly out of the room.

She wondered seriously, later on, whether it really was the opium that had made him behave in such an odd fashion; for when, early that evening, he returned from Ghasirabad, he was his usual amusing and imperturbable self. At the same time he had something to tell her that she found decidedly disturbing.

The letter she had written to Miss Jellings and that she had put into Chawand Rao
’
s hand herself—the letter that he had promised should be dispatched at once—had never reached its destination. Did it not look as though Chawand Rao
’
s power, even among his own servants, was limited
—
that in spite of his proud words, the old rani could circumvent him, how and when she pleased? And if this
w
as so, was she or Armand or poor little Prithviraj any safer now from her attentions than they had been the previous evening?

She said nothing of her fears to Armand, who despite his cheerful manner was still looking white and tired. She simply thanked him with impersonal cordiality for fetching the much needed case of medical supplies and then tore open the note Jelly had enclosed.

Characteristically Miss Jellings said little about herself beyond that she was “fairly fit,” but she had so much to say about Roger that Stella wished fervently she had waited to read, the letter until she was in the privacy of her own room—instead of under Armand
’
s keen eyes.

Roger Fendish is worried to bits about you already, and what he
’
ll say when he hears of this latest development—that you are actually in the palace—I can
’
t imagine. He drops in to make inquiries about you—usually on some other pretext—every single morning and has succeeded in making me feel very guilty about sending you to Bhindi at all. You must, of course, see the child through the worst of the illness, but don
’
t stay on a day longer than is absolutely necessary. And don
’
t, if you
’
ll take an old woman
’
s advice, dismiss Roger
’
s love for you too lightly. He may not have a smooth tongue and easy manners
—
and it
’
s obvious that he has a very hot temper. But he
’
s a real man, the kind in whom a woman could put complete faith. He wouldn
’
t only worship his mate; he would work for her, fight for her, if need be. And such men, Stella, aren
’
t to be met with every day of the week. Remember, too, that though he loves you, he is horribly proud. If you once send him away, he won
’
t come crawling to heel again.

For my own selfish reasons, I don
’
t want to lose you, but if I knew that you were going to marry Roger, I would dismiss you with my warmest blessing.

Your loving old friend, Sarah Jellings

Conscious that the tears had started to her eyes—for the letter had moved her deeply—she set vigorously about her evening duties. As she worked a resolution formed in her mind, and presently, leaving Jeythoo in charge—Armand having gone to bed exhausted—she slipped off to her own room eager to put her intention into practice.

If Roger really loved her—as she loved him—it was
useless
to sit down and let a worthless creature like
Allegra
Glydd ruin both their lives. Why should Allegra
hold
the monopoly on happiness? Why should she be
shielded
and protected from the consequences of her own
wic
ked actions?

Getting
out her
no
tepaper she began to write a letter,
not
to Jelly, but to Roger himself, giving him a bald
hist
ory of that dreadful time five years ago. At first her
pen
moved slowly, but presently, as memories swept back
t
o her brain, her words flowed. She said as little as possi
b
l
e
about Allegra. Her task was simply to vindicate herself,
the
Star Lefreyne on whom those cruel, damning suspi
c
ions had rested. She had been barely twenty at the time,
she
pointed out, and maybe a shade careless and irre
sp
onsible, but that had been her worst fault. Never in her
life
had she been guilty of the slightest dishonesty, and she
c
ould swear that the jewels that had been traced to her box had been put there by the thief as soon as the hue and cry
a
l
e
rted.

She hesitated before continuing the letter, longing to appeal to Roger to believe in her, yet too proud to do so. And while she sat there irresolute, a low cough outside her room
t
old her that someone wished to speak to her.

“What is it?” she exclaimed.

“The child is worse. It is well that you should go to him.” The voice was that of one of the women servants, but which one she could not distinguish.

“I
’
ll come at once,” she returned quickly, and bundling her papers into an
attaché
case, she went hurrying to the sickroom, where she found Jeythoo bending earnestly over
t
he small restless patient.

“What is the matter with him?” she asked sharply.

“He coughs and coughs. I have been giving him a few sips of the drink you prepared for him.”

“Wait. I
’
ll raise him a little to make it easier for him.” Gently she slipped an arm under the pillow and lifted the child a few inches, then held the glass to his lips
. H
e did not, she thought, look any worse than when she had left him, but for the first time he seemed to recognize her and gave her a wavering smile.

“The darling! Oh,
memsahib
,
if you only knew what a sweet, pretty fellow he is when he is running about in good
health.
”
She lowered her voice. “Even Her Highness, th
e
old rani, adores him.”

Stella smiled, looking down at the child. “We will have him fit and well again before very long,” she said confidently. “And now, Jeythoo, as he is awake, we had better make his bed and settle him for the night. Then, with luck, he may sleep for hours.”

Some twenty minutes later., the last little jobs completed, Stella turned to Jeythoo.

“I
’
ll be back directly to relieve you for the night,” she; said. “Meanwhile, though I want you to be watchful of the prince, you need not get frightened so easily. There was no real need for you to send for me half an hour ago.”

Jeythoo
’
s fat brown face took on an expression of bewilderme
n
t. “Send for you!
Memsahib
,
I sent no message to you. When you returned, I thought it was of your own design.”

It was Stella
’
s turn to stare. “One of the women servants, came for me,” she declared, coldly and with evident suspicion. “She asked me to come at once to the child. If it was; one of those working under you, it was very officious—”

“None of the other servants have been in the room since you left. Nor is it true that the prince was worse. He was coughing, certainly, but that is nothing new.”

Stella shrugged her shoulders. “Well, think no more about it. Strange things seem to happen in Bhindi Palace—”

“But not so strange as in former days.” Fear shone now in Jeythoo
’
s eyes, and all Stella
’
s doubts of her vanished. “I could tell you stories,
memsahib
,
of screams in the stillness of the night, of harmless folk who—”

“Never mind about that now.” Stella spoke
brusquely.
She felt uneasy enough already, without Jeythoo
’
s horrific tales, and was in no mind to listen. “Stay here for a few minutes, and when I come back you can go off to bed.”

“As you please.” Once again Jeytho
o
was the stolid servant, without emotions or thoughts of her own, and leaving her Stella slipped back to her own room.

Apparently, everything was as she had left it, including—and this was her first thought—the papers in her
attaché
case. There was no support for her intuitive guess that the false summons had been given with the motive of
getting
her out of her room for a few minutes. And then
s
he noticed something that in her flurry she had
over
loo
ked
: the faint, lovely fragrance of sandalwood.

There is no necessity for Jelly to urge me to leave here a
t
the first possible moment,
she thought grimly, as she
to
ok up her unfinished letter to Roger and thrust it into her pocket.
A nursing job at Bhindi Palace is a little too excit
ing
to be pleasant.
And she found herself, wondering
an
xiously how many days or weeks must elapse before she
c
ould decently return to Ghasirabad. Once the child was
definitely
through the crisis, she decided, she must leave him
to
his own people; even the old rani might be willing to
ca
rry out her instructions, she felt, if she saw that the boy w
a
s on the road to recovery.

Thinking along these lines she hesitated about finishing
and
dispatching her letter to Roger.
If she made up her mind to be back in Ghasirabad within a week or two, would it not be wiser to talk to Roger instead of writing to him? It would be difficult to open the subject, but once the ice was broken, much could be said that could not be expressed in a letter. Then, too, there was the risk that it might share the fate of her first note to Jelly and fail to r
e
ach its destination; indeed, she would not have been surprised if the old rani, who had clearly been on a voyage of discovery, had abstracted it to read in private.

Finally, though not without a sigh at the thought of so much wasted effort, she tore up the letter in small pieces und burned them carefully in an ashtray; then, nerving herself to face whatever terrors the night might produce—oh,
f
or an English door with a good strong lock—she returned to the sickroom.

Wondering with a dry little smile what the very conventional matron of the nursing home would say if she saw her, she arranged a, species of booby trap just inside the doorway and settled down to sleep. Except for one or two calls from her patient, who seemed rather restless,
and complained of the pain in his side, the night passed peacefully enough. But when she awoke refreshed the next morning, she knew at once that for many hours ahead there would be no rest for her. Prithviraj had entirely lost that feverish look and the quick, difficult breathing had slowed down to a normal rate. To inexperienced eyes his illness had suddenly taken a turn for the better. And indeed he murmur
ed
happily, smiling up at her, that he was almost well again
.
But to Stella these signs and symptoms pointed to on
e
thing only: the dreaded crisis had begun.

Her whole attention given now to her patient, everything else faded into insignificance. The disturbin
g
behavior of the old rani counted so little that when Chawand Rao stole into the sickroom, she did not even remember to mention it to him; even Roger—always in the forefront of her mind these days—was thrust int
o
the background. Every least thought was centered on th
e
small olive-skinned boy who was embarking on the struggle for his precious life; at all costs that fight must b
e
won.

As soon as the news reached Armand, he was at her side, eager to help her. There was no hint now in his manner of any feeling for her stronger than friendship, and his cheerful go
o
d-humor, coupled with his evident desire to wipe out his recent “defeat” at the hands of the old rani, made Stella glad of his presence. That outburst of his the other morning had been, she was sure, an aftereffect of his dose of opium, and if he remembered it now, which was doubtful, it would be with a sense of shame; he would never behave like that again.

And later that same day she was even more thankful that he was at hand. For when, after snatching a brief nap in her own room, she came out into the corridor, intent on hurrying back
to the sickroom, she received a shock. Sitting outside her doorway was a fierce-looking old Indian, gray bearded and armed with a very ugly bowie knife that, unsheathed, was lying across his knees.

He was up in an instant and salaaming, but his expression was so hostile, the thought shot through her mind that he must be an assassin, hired by the old queen to make an end of her. Had not Jeythoo spoken of muffled screams, of bodies dragged along those winding passages at dead of night
!

But if she was terrified she did not mean to show it. Staring haughtily at the man, she demanded sharply to know what he was doing, coming without permission to sit outside her door.

“I have permission, and from His Highness the raja
himsel
f; but more than that, I have a command—from my
master.”

Her fear gave way to bewilderment. “What do you
mean
? Speak more plainly, please.”