Chapter 9
Sophia returned to the ballroom, this time looking over the crowd of guests and servants with an eye attuned to discomfort.
Nobody in the throng seemed to have witnessed a scuffle in Lord Pilkington’s study, if demeanor and aspect were indicators.
The ball was still in full swing, and its attendees were joyous and loud as ever.
She spied Major Stuart once he reentered the room.
He scanned the crowd, made his way to Lord Pilkington, whispered something in his ear, received an answer with a nod, and then disappeared again.
Sophia crossed the room to Lady Pilkington, who was still pale but had regained a large portion of her former composure. “My lady,” she said and placed her hand on her arm. “I can only imagine you must be weary after preparing for such a grand event.”
Lady Pilkington looked at Sophia with eyes wide, and nodded. “I . . .” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “I am quite exhausted, I must admit. But, dear girl, you mustn’t fuss over me—I shall be fine. You should dance and enjoy yourself with the other young guests.”
“I confess to being a trifle fatigued myself, my lady, and I have quite enjoyed the party thus far, I assure you. I doubt I could convince my feet to dance any more this evening.” Sophia smiled. “I thought to make a trip past the refreshment table. May I bring you juice or champagne, perhaps?”
The woman nodded. “Champagne,” she murmured, and when Sophia turned, she grabbed hold of her arm.
“Miss Elliot, I—” She dabbed at her forehead with a handkerchief.
“I thank you for your concern. I haven’t a daughter—I mentioned to you before—but I should have had.
And she would have been of an age with you, had she lived. ”
Sophia swallowed, emotion gathering in her throat.
Lady Pilkington squeezed Sophia’s arm. “I appreciate your compassion.”
Sophia nodded, feeling slightly guilty that her purpose in approaching the woman had been twofold.
Indeed, Lady Pilkington’s face was alarmingly pale and cause for concern, but Sophia also hoped she would take her into her confidence.
There may be something the woman knew, something she didn’t even realize she knew, that might shed light on the night’s events.
Sophia surveyed the ballroom one more time.
It was as she suspected—a few people were offering Lady Pilkington their good-byes as they left, and rather than miss the chance to observe the guests more closely, Sophia raced as gracefully and unobtrusively as possible to the refreshment table to grab a glass of champagne.
Mistress Manners would have taken issue with Sophia’s rush, but she was dressed as a man, after all.
Surely she could be afforded a bit of leniency.
As she left the refreshment table, she saw Rachael Scarsdale dancing with a professor who was dressed as William Shakespeare.
Sophia didn’t have the heart to interrupt her with news of murder and mayhem in the lord’s study, and she wasn’t altogether certain she should mention it to anyone at all.
It was just as well Rachael was occupied.
Sophia might have been tempted to divulge what she knew.
For her own part, Sophia politely refused offers to dance and instead lingered near Lady Pilkington until the wee morning hours when the ball began to wind down.
She felt oddly protective of her sponsor.
The lady swayed on her feet, while Lord Pilkington behaved as though nothing untoward had occurred in his study hours before.
It was to their credit that none of the guests seemed any the wiser.
Beneath the surface, however, his distraction was evident.
He made eye contact with his wife frequently and once clasped her fingers in a tender grip.
Eventually the last of the guests trickled either upstairs to their rooms, outside for their carriages, or for a short stroll back to their various residential compounds.
Nobody seemed out of character to Sophia, but then she didn’t really know very many people at the party, and she was hardly a professional investigator.
She felt a stab of frustration at her limitations, but shoved it aside for Lady Pilkington, who still hadn’t admitted her knowledge of a huge puddle of blood in her husband’s study.
“What a smashing success.” Sophia offered her arm to the woman.
The lady hadn’t succumbed to a fit of vapors or excused herself early.
She had stayed on her feet to the bitter end, knowing full well that someone might have been murdered in her home.
Regrettably, her concern for the reputation of the Residency was not exaggerated.
Sophia knew that the wrong snippet of gossip whispered in the right ear could mean upheaval and disgrace.
Lady Pilkington smiled at Sophia but her eyes were tired and her thoughts clearly elsewhere. “Thank you, dear. It was quite the crush, was it not?”
“The most splendid of crushes. In all of my time out in London society, I have never seen an event so well lauded or attended.”
The compliment had its desired effect, and Lady Pilkington’s eyes brightened.
“May I escort you to your room and hand you over to your maid, my lady? You have been running ragged all day and must be exhausted.”
Lady Pilkington’s brow creased. “I had wanted a word with George,” she said absently.
“But he is likely speaking with . . . some of the gentlemen. I’ll have my maid deliver him a message to see me before he retires.
” She managed a smile. “Yes, I would dearly love to retire to my chambers, and I feel positively spoiled with your kind attention.”
Sophia left her sponsor in the capable hands of her maid. She then returned to her own room, deep in thought and rather exhausted. “Briggs,” she asked her maid, “were you with the other servants at all this evening?”
“Yes, miss.” Briggs covered a yawn and moved to help Sophia disrobe.
“I spent some time in the kitchens, but truthfully, it makes me rather uncomfortable. They prepare our food sitting on the floor, did you know? Very nice, they are, the local servants, but very much different. I returned to the sitting room upstairs in the servants’ quarters and played card games for a time. ”
“Did anybody mention something strange? Goings on that may be out of the ordinary?”
Briggs frowned as she shook out the costume jacket and laid it over one of the chairs by the hearth.
“No, nothing of note. Just that this costume ball drew in even more people than the last one. I suspect Himmat or Abdullah might be better informed if anything peculiar happened. They were likely on the main level for all of it. Not to mention the kitchen staff. They were running back and forth like mad.”
Sophia stripped out of the rest of the costume and sighed with relief at the simple nightgown Briggs draped over her head. “You go to bed, Briggs. I am going to wash up and then sleep until next week.”
Briggs smiled and curtseyed. “Pleasant dreams, miss.” She left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Sophia washed with the cool water in the basin at the dry sink.
She barely remembered to clean her teeth before falling into the soft bed and pulling the mosquito netting around it.
Her claim to Briggs may not have been exaggerated.
She’d been months aboard ship, finally arrived in India, met again the man she’d loved who had stolen—and broken—her heart, and was now searching for answers about a possible murder. One week of sleep might not be enough.
She closed her eyes and settled in against the cool, crisp white sheets and sighed. Bliss.
Asleep nearly immediately, she woke to a quiet but insistent knock on her door. Using a shaft of moonlight from the window, she consulted the pocket watch she kept at the bedside. She’d been asleep for only two hours—not enough time even for dawn to break.
Before she could summon the wherewithal to answer the door, it opened a crack and Rachael’s head appeared.
“Sophia!” The whisper was more of a loud hiss.
“Rachael, what on earth?” Sophia pushed herself upright and opened the netting around her bed.
Rachael entered and crawled up on the bed with Sophia. She pulled the netting shut behind her and grasped her hand. “Something is horribly amiss.”
Sophia’s fog began to clear, and her heart stuttered. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been unable to sleep, and I heard my maid speaking with a servant in the hallway. There was some sort of upheaval in the nursery. The ayahs are upset, and something is wrong with Charlie. I went up to see for myself.”
Fear gathered thick in Sophia’s stomach as she thought of the bloodstained Turkish rug in the downstairs study. “And?”
“Amala Ayah is beside herself, but if I understood what she was trying to articulate, Charlie may have been witness to a serious crime.” Rachael paused. “I need to find Dylan, but I don’t know where. I cannot very well go down the hallway, looking in each guest room.”
Sophia swept the mosquito netting aside and found her outer wrap, feeling horribly tired but painfully alert. “Let us see if we can get the whole story. In a few hours, when the house begins the day, we can question a servant about the location of your cousin’s room, should there be cause.”
Rachael nodded and led the way through the darkened house to the nursery suite on the third floor.
Muffled crying sounded from within, and Sophia didn’t bother knocking.
She followed the sound through the playroom and into one of the bedrooms, where she found Amala Ayah sitting on her bed, cradling Charlie.
“What is it?” Sophia sat down next to the weeping woman and touched her arm. “What has happened, Amala?”
“Oh, miss,” the older woman sniffled. “I do not know what to do. Lord Pilkington’s valet will not give him a message, and Lady Pilkington has taken laudanum for a head pain and is deeply asleep.”
“Let me help you.” Sophia rested her hand atop Charlie’s head. The little boy hiccoughed as though at the end of an exhausting bout of emotion. He clutched his wooden toy horse to his chest, tears still pooling in his eyes. “What happened?”
Rachael gave Amala Ayah a handkerchief, which the nanny used to wipe her eyes and nose.
“Master Charlie was in bed for the evening. I had gone to the servants’ sitting room with the others. When I returned, Charlie was gone.” Tears rolled afresh, and Sophia resisted the urge to pull the poor woman close.
“I looked everywhere, but there were so many people. Finally, I found him in his father’s study.”
Sophia’s heartbeat increased. “Was he alone?”
Amala Ayah nodded. “Yes. But he had been in there for some time, hiding under his papa’s desk.” She rubbed the boy’s curly hair. “Earlier in the evening he had heard the other children say that Captain Miller had brought special treasures for this visit, and he hoped to take a peek at them.”
Sophia looked at Charlie’s earnest little face. “Why did you go to the study, Charlie? Did you know the captain would be there?”
“Maybe,” Charlie said, his breath catching. “He visits Papa in the study for a drink that Mama doesn’t like.”
Amala Ayah smoothed his hair again. “They meet there for whiskey,” she murmured over his head to Sophia. “Lady Pilkington does not approve.”
Sophia thought back to the desk in the study. It was large, and the back panel was slatted, not solid. A young child could easily fit beneath it and still see the room. “Charlie, will you tell me what you saw?”
His eyes grew even larger, and he turned his face toward Amala, whose face crumpled and she rocked him like an infant.
“Has he told you what he saw?” Sophia asked Amala Ayah.
She nodded. “Partly.” She covered Charlie’s exposed ear with her hand, sniffing back her own tears.
Leaning forward, she whispered, “Captain Miller was in there with a man who opened his father’s safe.
They took something out, argued, and then the other man hit Captain Miller in the head many times with something Charlie couldn’t see. ”
Sophia closed her eyes. “Then did this man drag Captain Miller to the window and shove him out?”
Amala Ayah’s eyes widened. “Yes! After Charlie told me what had happened, I took him to find his parents, but they were somewhere in the crowd. I eventually found Himmat, who said Lord Pilkington was in his study and had requested his wife attend him. Himmat left to find her, so I returned to the study with Charlie. His lordship was so distraught and frantic when he saw me there with his son. He ordered me to take Charlie away, to put him safely in his bed. He wouldn’t hear me.
” Amala Ayah fell silent, still rocking the boy.
Sophia looked up at Rachael, who stared at her.
“How did you know about any of this?” Rachael asked.
Sophia shook her head. “I have much to tell you. But first, we must determine which room belongs to your cousin.” Her heart ached as she looked at Charlie, who was miserable, afraid, and confused. She put one last question to the nanny. “Does he know the man who did this?”
Amala shook her head. “He says he does not,” she whispered. “But when I asked, he was very quick to answer ‘no.’”
Sophia bent forward and touched Charlie’s knee. “Charlie, will you help us? Do you know the man who hurt Captain Miller? We must find him so he cannot harm anyone else.”
Charlie turned his face toward Amala Ayah, saying nothing. He shuddered, his small shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs.
Sophia’s eyes burned. She turned the conversation to innocuous topics, attempting to quiet the tone of the discussions and help Charlie feel a sense of calm.
She and Amala spoke for ten minutes, fifteen, and finally Amala murmured to Charlie, asking if he’d like a drink of steamed milk. He shook his head, and she frowned.
“Are you certain? It’s your favorite; it helps you sleep.”
Charlie’s cheek nestled against Amala’s shoulder and he stared straight ahead, not bothering to shake his head again. He remained silent, except for the occasional halting breath that followed his endless tears.
“Would you like for me to summon your mother or father?” Amala tried again.
Still he stared, quiet, unmoving.
“Charlie, I am so sorry,” Sophia murmured. “We’ll not bother you more about it tonight. If you remember anything else, will you tell Amala Ayah?”
The little boy shook his head, so subtly Sophia thought she’d imagined it. He blinked slowly, evidence of his fatigue. She stood and exhaled quietly. It was a conundrum she’d never before faced. How did one go about convincing a terrified child to give voice to his worst fears?
She chewed on her lip in thought, then turned to Rachael. “We must locate Major Stuart.”