Chapter 21 #3
She joined Anthony at the hearth, passing both Clergyman Denney, who looked like a nasty thundercloud, and Professor Gerald, who was speaking with the Pilkingtons.
On a whim, she pushed lightly on the statue of Vishnu.
It sat solidly in place until she put greater pressure on it, using both thumbs. It budged a quarter of an inch.
The statue stood perhaps just under a foot tall, and though she wasn’t an expert, she presumed it was carved from sandstone since she was able to nudge it herself with relative ease.
There was some heft to it, and she bit her lip in thought, feeling a rush of cold through her limbs despite the stuffy air in the study.
She couldn’t wield it as a weapon . . . but perhaps if she were threatened?
In some sort of altercation? She could grab it with both hands and swing.
She fought down a shudder and realigned the statue, then surreptitiously nudged Kali.
They were likely produced by the same artist—the dimensions matched.
“What are you doing?” Anthony whispered.
“How heavy are these, do you suppose?” she whispered back, still looking at the statues as though admiring them.
He paused—glanced at the Pilkingtons—and then moved Kali, lifting it slightly from the mantel and placing it gently back down. “Fifteen, twenty pounds, perhaps.”
She scooted closer to him, and he leaned his head down to hers. “Could you kill someone with one of these, Anthony?”
“Please do not touch the statues,” Pilkington said suddenly, and Sophia jumped back, knocking her head against Anthony’s nose.
“Forgive me, my lord. We were admiring them.”
His eyes were wide and he shook his head. “I prefer they not be touched.”
“I’ve told you they are not appropriate for display in the home of a man of faith, Pilkington,” Clergyman Denney said, eying the statues on the mantel with clear disgust, his color high.
“Mr. Denney, I’ll not have you dictating to me in my own home!” Pilkington’s own cheeks were flushed.
“George, I believe we are all overwrought.” Lady Pilkington’s voice was thin. She moved to her husband’s side and firmly took hold of his arm. “We are beside ourselves with worry for our son. I am certain you all understand.”
“Of course.” Sophia nodded. “We join you in that concern, my lady.”
Himmat appeared at the door and cleared his throat. “Mr. Taj Darzi, my lord.”
“Sir, I have heard the news of your son.” Mr. Darzi entered the room and clasped Pilkington’s hand.
“I am happy to provide whatever service you may need in locating him. Please, Lord Pilkington, allow me to help you. I have heard whisperings of recent trouble here in your home. I would not have you face such things alone, without your ally.”
The significance—likely unintended—was not lost on Sophia: that the “trouble” Mr. Darzi spoke of had begun in this very study.
She looked at the spot on the floor where copious amounts of blood had once pooled; it was now covered with a new rug.
Also significant, she mused, was the fact that many of those who had been in attendance the night of the costume ball were present in this room, or would soon arrive at the mansion to help look for the missing child.
Pilkington cleared his throat. “Major Stuart and Lord Wilshire are investigating the matter, Mr. Darzi. I suppose they could provide details.”
Anthony stepped forward and shook Mr. Darzi’s hand. “Our first matter of business, of course, is to find the child. Any help the palace can provide would be most appreciated.”
“Yes, of course. Whatever you need is yours.”
“Right now, we are gathering people to search the grounds and surrounding areas while the domestic staff continues to monitor the home itself.”
Mr. Darzi nodded definitively. “I shall have several of the palace guard dispatched immediately here for instruction.”
“Thank you.” Anthony managed a smile, put his palms together and bowed, touching his thumbs to his forehead.
Mr. Darzi did the same, then left the room and spoke softly to the two men who stood sentry for him in the hallway.
Anthony released a sigh. “Extra hands will help,” he said.
“Seems foolhardy to risk so many in the dark of the jungle. We’d be better served to wait for daylight.” Clergyman Denney’s pronouncement hung thick in the air.
Lady Pilkington found her voice first. “My son is out in that jungle, sir, and I will take advantage of as many willing hands as I can.” She glared at him. “Truly Christian gestures, and from those who are not even Christian! George, I shall be in the library.” She turned and left the room.
Denney’s jaw clenched visibly, but he refrained from further comment.
Sophia figured the man owed Lord Pilkington an apology at the very least. His callous dismissal of the Resident’s son was in poor taste.
Denney left the study, followed by Gerald and Lord Pilkington.
As Anthony and Sophia headed for the door, he dipped his head toward the mantel. His jaw was tight as he glanced at her. “Yes. I could definitely kill someone with one of those statues.”