Forbidden Jewel of India

Neither here nor there. Anusha liked the phrase. ‘And that is neither here nor there also. I will not have him.’

‘Not have him? My dear, Major Herriard is...and you are...’

‘Yes? I am the granddaughter of a raja. So, if I wanted him, it would be quite all right.’ And I do want him, but not as a husband. I do not want any man as a husband and he does not want me.

The other woman’s lips had vanished into a thin line. If she says I could not marry Nick because my parents were not married, or because I am half-Indian, then she will be very sorry for her insolence.

Something must have shown on her face, for Mrs Rowley gave a petulant shrug. ‘That can all wait until you reach Calcutta. Do not fear: I will let no one know you are here.’

‘The spies of the Maharaja of Altaphur will know already, I have no doubt.’ But the house and its grounds had a high wall around them and there were sentry boxes at each corner, she had been relieved to see. They would be safe enough in here.

‘I meant any of the English society here.’

Mrs Rowley believed that what a gaggle of gossiping traders’ wives thought of her was any cause for concern? Anusha almost said as much, then recalled that she was speaking to the wife of a trader and held her tongue. She needed this woman—or, rather, Nick did.

‘Surely the surgeon will have finished by now?’ The house was uncannily quiet. Had something gone horribly wrong and they were afraid to tell her? ‘I will go and see what is happening.’

The older woman looked horrified, but then, that seemed to be her usual expression. Nick’s bedchamber door was standing slightly ajar so she applied her ear to the gap.

‘If you were not so stubborn and would simply pass out, Major, you would make life much easier for both of us.’ The doctor sounded as though he was speaking through gritted teeth. Anusha sympathised with him.

There was a grunt of pain, then the rattle of something metallic dropping into a bowl. ‘There, that’s out, all in one piece. Now I will dress the wound and bleed you.’

‘Over my dead body.’ Nick sounded a trifle breathless, but very much alive. Anusha sagged against the doorframe.

‘It will be your dead body if you develop a fever.’

‘No.’

‘No,’ Anusha echoed and marched into the room. The doctor was bandaging Nick’s shoulder, there was a heap of bloodstained rags on the floor, bowls of unpleasantly red water, and the instruments looked even worse now they had been used. Nick was white around the mouth, but he rolled his eyes at her and one corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.

‘If he does not want to be bled, then he will not be,’ she added. ‘Thank you, Dr Smythe. What do we owe you for your services?’

‘I will send you my accounting when the patient no longer requires those services, Miss Laurens. I have every expectation of being recalled to his bedside before the day is out to find him in a dangerously febrile

state.’ He twitched the sheet into place and bowed. ‘Good day to you.’

‘He looks as though he has sat on a poker, foolish man,’ Anusha remarked in English as the door closed.

Nick snorted, then winced. ‘Do not make me laugh, I beg you. Where did you get that vulgar expression?’

‘I heard Papa... I once heard my father use it.’ Papa. When was the last time she had even thought of her father like that? ‘That is not important—what do you need?’

‘Nothing except something to drink. Tomorrow I will give you a list of things that we will need and things to be done so you can check what Rowley is doing—I don’t trust him to get on with enough urgency. This is a damnable nuisance, but I’ll fall flat on my face if I try to do anything much for twenty-four hours—I don’t need a sawbones to tell me that.’

‘Does it hurt?’ He shot her a look that spoke volumes. ‘I am sorry, of course it does. Would opium help?’

‘No.’ He spoke with some feeling. ‘I need my wits about me, not scattered in dreams. Are you all right, Anusha? You fought like a Rajput warrior—both against the dacoits and the doctor.’

She beamed at him and he blinked. ‘Thank you! I enjoyed it, except when you were hurt.’ But she did not want to think about the sheer terror of that, the seemingly endless search for help. ‘They have given me a room and water to wash in and food and that woman with the face like a purse with the strings pulled tight has been insolent, but I think she means well and does not understand. She wanted me to put on clothes like hers and was offended when I refused.’