Read Online The Maharajah's Monkey by Natasha Narayan - Free Book Online

berths! We moved to the family berths and then on to the single-women quarters. The women were still eating lunch, and I must say their food looked even more unappetising than ours.
    Finally, when we had even ransacked the latrines, I was forced to admit defeat. The stench was overpowering. There were too many Indians below deck to find our suspect. It was like looking for an Englishman in London. Sick at heart, we climbed up to the promenade deck.
    â€œOh my sainted aunt!” Aunt Hilda exclaimed. “What’s going on?”
    Sailors were running about hollering, ladies were fainting, gentleman were rushing to the sides of the boat. The promenade deck was lurching in the wind and billowing white sails blocked my view. A red and yellow diagonally divided signal flag was fluttering. In the distance a cannon exploded. The steward cursed and broke into a run. Aunt Hilda saw the flag and spat out an oath.
    â€œMAN OVERBOARD!” a sailor shouted.
    â€œIt’s a lady, you lummox,” another seaman yelled.
    I rushed over to the rails but someone elbowed me out of the way. It was a gentleman who had thrown off his jacket. Gripping a rope, tied at one end to a life preserver and at the other to the mast, he jumped overboard. He disappeared into the churning waves, as I realized that it was the Fishing Fleet’s favorite, Charlie Prinsep.
    That meant the woman must be one of those who gushed around Prinsep in the salon.
    Hanging over the rails I watched Mr. Prinsep descend into the waves on the rope. I could see no sign of a body, in the churning of froth and waves. Waldo and Isaac had joined me in the watch.
    â€œHe sure is brave,” murmured Waldo, who had appeared.
    Mr. Prinsep was thrashing around in the sea, swimming in ever wider circles, while one hand clung to thelife preserver. We spurred him on with our shouts of encouragement, but increasingly I felt that his task was hopeless. All we could see was a group of seagulls skimming the spray, scything in and out of the water. Surely the lady, whoever she was, would have drowned by now.
    I felt a hand gripping my arm. It was Rachel, her eyes wide with terror.
    â€œWhere’s Miss Minchin?” She blurted.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œShe’s not in the cabin. Kit, this isn’t right. She hasn’t left her bunk for days.”
    â€œMaybe—” I began but Rachel cut me off.
    â€œOh, Kit, she’s been sad ever since—” Rachel stopped dead.
    Her words bludgeoned me in the head. For a moment I just gaped at her.
    Thing is, I knew Rachel was right. I
knew
Miss Minchin’s spirits had never recovered from the forged love note. I shook off my friend’s hand. For one lunatic moment, I thought of jumping into the waves. But I was halted by a volley of shouts. Down below Prinsep was signaling for the rope to be hoisted. How could I ever forgive myself? Prinsep was being winched up, dripping sea slime. He had done his best. It just wasn’t good enough. Tired and exhausted, he had given up the rescue attempt.
    Which meant I might be responsible for something truly awful. It was meant as a joke, I told myself. But I felt so heavy I could scarcely stand up. I watched a soggy Prinsep rise on the rope. Attached to him was a bundle, a shapeless, dripping pile of clothes. My heart jerked suddenly. A skein of hair hung down from the sodden mess, or was it seaweed? Strong hands pulled up the rope and Mr. Prinsep and the bundle were laid on the deck. There was too much of a press in front of me. I caught a glimpse of lavender gown and dripping hair. Then the human throng edged me out. Angrily I pushed my way through, using elbows and fists, anything.
    Mr. Prinsep was bending over a lady, whose hair was fanned out on the deck. His mouth covered her lips. He jerked upward and a spray of water spurted from his mouth.
    The lady—Miss Minchin—was corpse still. Her features had a bleary look, as if they were