warlike nature of the company’s army. We have been working in a quiet sort of way to make our opinion known.”
Quill did not reveal by so much as a flick of an eyelash what he thought of their “quiet” methods.
But Breksby did not achieve his current eminence for nothing. “I know, I know,” he said with a sigh. “Our efforts are undoubtedly insufficient. Be that as it may, Lord Richard Jerningham has apparently taken matters into his own hands—and in a way that threatens the entire Marathas region.”
“What’s he done?”
“Were you aware that the current ruler of Holkar had gone around the bend?”
“Tukoji Holkar? I heard some rumors,” Quill said cautiously. Actually he had heard that Holkar was addicted to the cherry brandy supplied to him by East India men.
“Utterly cracked,” Breksby confirmed. “Sat around all day swilling brandy until he went ‘round the bend. Apparently his relatives have him tied up with rope and are feeding him only milk. I gather there are a couple of illegitimate heirs waiting around like jackals in the wings. But Tukoji does have a legitimate heir.
“The problem is that Jerningham has secreted that heir away somewhere.”
Quill blinked. “Why on earth would he do that?”
“Supposedly the heir is cracked, too. Jerningham believes that if we put a half-wit on the throne of Holkar it will give the East India Company an inside track to the Marathas. He wants an illegitimate son on the throne and the company out of the region.”
“And you believe that Miss Jerningham knows something of this situation?”
“Possibly,” Breksby said promptly. “Very strange household, Jerningham’s. You know he went over to India to be a missionary?”
“I heard that he originally traveled to India with that idea, but he discarded it,” Quill replied.
“That’s right. He set himself up as a huge nabob over there, deep in the Marathas country—because that’s where he fancied himself saving souls. Except that rather than save souls, he has made a fortune exporting goods to China. Some say he was part of the early opium trade to that country. I don’t credit it, myself.”
“Why is he now involved in Holkar politics?”
“Tukoji Rao’s heir is Jerningham’s nephew, on his first wife’s side. The boy was actually raised in Jerningham’s household, side by side with his daughter.”
“The relationship doesn’t explain why Jerningham would secrete the boy away when it looked as if he might become an heir to the throne.”
“Word has it that Jerningham is so bitter against the East India Company that he’d do anything to cast a spoke in their wheel.” Breksby took a quick look at the gold watch suspended from his waistcoat. “I shall look forward to discussing the situation at length with your father. And as I said, I do also wish to congratulate him on your brother’s upcoming nuptials.”
Quill stared at the closed door to the study for some time after Breksby’s departure. Suddenly he gave a short laugh. Quill may not have known Gabby very long, but he was quite sure that she would loyally support her father— and that she could fib her way out of a tight spot without turning a hair. Perhaps Breksby, that wily old fox, was about to meet his match.
T HE NEXT MORNING Gabby stirred and stretched luxuriously. For the first time in months she didn’t wake in a cramped bunk. There was no pitch and swell of waves under her. She had left the curtains open the previous night, and pale sunlight was spilling through the windows. Outside she could hear larks singing. At least, she assumed they were larks. Her father’s poetry books had talked of larks singing in English gardens.
Having gone to bed rather worried about her future marriage, she felt renewed hope in the morning light. True, dinner had been a starched and stiff affair, during which Peter instructed her at length about members of the royal family. And he was absolutely right to point out that her education had been
Quill did not reveal by so much as a flick of an eyelash what he thought of their “quiet” methods.
But Breksby did not achieve his current eminence for nothing. “I know, I know,” he said with a sigh. “Our efforts are undoubtedly insufficient. Be that as it may, Lord Richard Jerningham has apparently taken matters into his own hands—and in a way that threatens the entire Marathas region.”
“What’s he done?”
“Were you aware that the current ruler of Holkar had gone around the bend?”
“Tukoji Holkar? I heard some rumors,” Quill said cautiously. Actually he had heard that Holkar was addicted to the cherry brandy supplied to him by East India men.
“Utterly cracked,” Breksby confirmed. “Sat around all day swilling brandy until he went ‘round the bend. Apparently his relatives have him tied up with rope and are feeding him only milk. I gather there are a couple of illegitimate heirs waiting around like jackals in the wings. But Tukoji does have a legitimate heir.
“The problem is that Jerningham has secreted that heir away somewhere.”
Quill blinked. “Why on earth would he do that?”
“Supposedly the heir is cracked, too. Jerningham believes that if we put a half-wit on the throne of Holkar it will give the East India Company an inside track to the Marathas. He wants an illegitimate son on the throne and the company out of the region.”
“And you believe that Miss Jerningham knows something of this situation?”
“Possibly,” Breksby said promptly. “Very strange household, Jerningham’s. You know he went over to India to be a missionary?”
“I heard that he originally traveled to India with that idea, but he discarded it,” Quill replied.
“That’s right. He set himself up as a huge nabob over there, deep in the Marathas country—because that’s where he fancied himself saving souls. Except that rather than save souls, he has made a fortune exporting goods to China. Some say he was part of the early opium trade to that country. I don’t credit it, myself.”
“Why is he now involved in Holkar politics?”
“Tukoji Rao’s heir is Jerningham’s nephew, on his first wife’s side. The boy was actually raised in Jerningham’s household, side by side with his daughter.”
“The relationship doesn’t explain why Jerningham would secrete the boy away when it looked as if he might become an heir to the throne.”
“Word has it that Jerningham is so bitter against the East India Company that he’d do anything to cast a spoke in their wheel.” Breksby took a quick look at the gold watch suspended from his waistcoat. “I shall look forward to discussing the situation at length with your father. And as I said, I do also wish to congratulate him on your brother’s upcoming nuptials.”
Quill stared at the closed door to the study for some time after Breksby’s departure. Suddenly he gave a short laugh. Quill may not have known Gabby very long, but he was quite sure that she would loyally support her father— and that she could fib her way out of a tight spot without turning a hair. Perhaps Breksby, that wily old fox, was about to meet his match.
T HE NEXT MORNING Gabby stirred and stretched luxuriously. For the first time in months she didn’t wake in a cramped bunk. There was no pitch and swell of waves under her. She had left the curtains open the previous night, and pale sunlight was spilling through the windows. Outside she could hear larks singing. At least, she assumed they were larks. Her father’s poetry books had talked of larks singing in English gardens.
Having gone to bed rather worried about her future marriage, she felt renewed hope in the morning light. True, dinner had been a starched and stiff affair, during which Peter instructed her at length about members of the royal family. And he was absolutely right to point out that her education had been
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