Forbidden Jewel of India

‘Plenty of time to worry about organising that, let alone paying for it.’ The doctor was laying out an appalling array of instruments on a strip of linen. Anusha swallowed before her heaving stomach got the better of her. ‘You won’t be fit to travel for a week or so after this. It will—’

‘We go as soon as a boat can be made ready,’ Nick interrupted him, propping himself up on his right elbow. ‘The day after tomorrow at the latest. Altaphur has many agents and he will have sent word out faster than we could travel. If we had arrived in the town quietly I would not be so concerned—as it is, we might as well have sent trumpeters to announce ourselves.’

‘Lie down,’ Anusha snapped in Hindi. ‘You are as white as a sheet. You are very aggravating, but I do not want you to die.’ There was a hideous lump in her throat and she was terrified she was about to cry.

‘In that case I will do my best not to,’ Nick replied in the same language, then switched back to English. ‘Rowley, will you organise the boat and the horses?’ To her relief he lay down flat again.

‘Certainly. You won’t be up and about as soon as you think, but I’ll sort it out right away, if that will keep you quiet. Now, come along, Miss Laurens.’

‘No.’ She was not going to leave him, not alone with that doctor who looked like a skeleton and his instruments of torture.

‘But I don’t want you,’ Nick said. His hands were spread flat on the sheet as though he was fighting the need to fist them.

Mr Rowley took her arm and drew her aside. ‘This isn’t going to be pleasant, Miss Laurens,’ he murmured. ‘If he wants to scream or pass out or throw up, he won’t while you’re here. And if you faint it will simply distract the doctor. So think about the major and not about yourself. Yes?’

Anusha stared at him. ‘You mean it would be...’ She searched for the English word ‘...selfish, to stay?’ He nodded. ‘Very well.’ She marched up to the doctor, opened her mouth, then snapped it closed. None of the things she wanted to say—Don’t hurt him, don’t kill him—would be any use. But princesses did not plead, they gave orders.

‘Do it properly,’ she said, fixing the doctor with her haughtiest stare. ‘If he lives, my uncle the Raja of Kalatwah will reward you. If he dies—’ She left it hanging, turned on her heel and walked out of the room without a backwards glance.

* * *

‘You have no English clothes of any kind?’ Mrs Rowley sounded appalled.

‘No. And I do not wish to borrow any, thank you, ma’am.’ That, Anusha believed, was the right way to address a married lady, but she was not sure. She no longer felt like a haughty princess, but an unsatisfactory child who had disappointed this woman in her strange tight bodice and big bell skirts. She was obviously the mistress of the house although she wore hardly any jewellery.

It was very strange—there were no women’s quarters here at all. Mrs Rowley had led her to her own bedchamber, but that was right next to Mr Rowley’s room, and in the corridor outside both male and female servants came and went. There was no bathhouse either, just a tub, but she had been grateful for the cool water and the soap and the big towels and had tried to concentrate on getting very clean and not thinking about what was happening to Nick.

‘You are betrothed to Major Herriard, I presume.’

Anusha wrestled with the English. Mrs Rowley did not seem to have any Hindi beside very basic phrases for giving orders to her servants ‘Betrothed?’

‘You are going to marry him?’

‘Oh, no. He was supposed to be escorting my caravan back to my father.’ It seemed wise to add, ‘Who has sent Major Herriard for me.’

‘But there is no caravan!’

‘No, ma’am. Because of the maharaja’s attack. But no one knows of the lack, except you and Mr Rowley and the doctor, of course, so it cannot matter, for I know you will not speak of it.’

‘Not matter! Of course it matters—you have been

ruined, my dear.’ She looked rather scandalously pleased at this pronouncement, as though she normally expected the worst and was gratified when it happened.

Ruined? Anusha worked that out. ‘Oh, no.’ She smiled at the other woman in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. ‘I am still a virgin.’

Mrs Rowley pursed her lips. Perhaps there was another word she should have used. ‘I should hope so! But that, my dear, is neither here nor there. You must marry the man—your father will insist upon it.’