Read Online The Sandalwood Princess by Loretta Chase - Free Book Online
Authors: Loretta Chase
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errands of mercy,” she answered coolly, “one regards the errand first, and the surroundings not at all.” In a few crisp words, she informed him that she’d come to compensate for his neglect of the ailing solicitor. While she lectured, Amanda covered the bowl of broth and set it on a platter.
The surgeon’s countenance darkened. “The man’s done for,” he answered defensively. “My time’s better spent with those I can help.”
“Indeed. Attending to Mrs. Bullerham’s indigestion— a permanent condition, as all of us who know her will attest— is of far greater importance than attempting to make a dying man’s last hours endurable.”
On this self-righteous note, Amanda took up bowl and platter and stalked out.
Not until she’d marched halfway across the deck did she recollect she was to have sent for the valet. Just as well, she told herself. She wanted a look at his master, didn’t she?
The door opened immediately in response to her resolute knock, and the tall form of Mr. Brentick promptly blocked it.
“Miss Cavencourt,” he gasped.
A mere fraction of a moment passed before he schooled his features to polite blankness, yet that was time enough. She spied the sorrow and anxiety in his countenance, and simultaneously recalled the edge of bleakness in his voice earlier when he’d asked for help. He was genuinely distressed about his conniving employer. Amanda experienced an irrational twinge of guilt. She promptly smothered it.
“Padji had the broth ready while I was there,” she said. “It seemed foolish to let it cool while someone came to fetch you, especially when I was returning this way. Or nearly this way,” she amended with strict regard for accuracy. Her cabin was at the stern, well-lit, large, and luxurious. This, she saw as she peered past the tall, dark-coated figure, was a tiny, dark cell.
That was very kind of you, miss.” Mr. Brentick tried to take the broth from her, but she held fast and raised one autocratic eyebrow in perfect imitation of her brother. The valet retreated to let her pass.
“Oh, dear, the poor man,” she said softly, involuntarily, as she approached the invalid. He looked ghastly. “No wonder you are so alarmed.” She looked up to meet a stony blue gaze.
Amanda decided to disregard Mr. Brentick’s facial expressions. “Can you prop him up a bit?” she asked. “If you will hold him, I can feed him.”
The valet hesitated, his face stonier yet.
“It wants two people, Mr. Brentick,” she said impatiently. “While you dawdle, the broth grows cold.”
Under the stiff mask, he seemed to struggle with something, but it was a brief combat. Then, his piercing blue gaze fixed on her as though in challenge, he moved to the cot to do as she asked.
Before she’d left the cabin, Amanda had promised to send Bella on the same errand in two hours. Mr. Brentick had protested, citing the needless trouble to herself and her servant, and he had got an unpleasant glint in his eyes. Amanda had firmly ignored both words and look, and in the end, she’d won the skirmish.
She waited until Bella was gone before taking Mrs. Gales into her confidence. Then Amanda quickly outlined the rani’s tale, her own suspicions, and the information Padji had so reluctantly offered.
Mrs. Gales listened composedly, throughout occasionally interjecting a calm question. When Amanda was done, the older woman shook her head.
“Five years in India may have disordered my reason,” she said. “On the other hand, it has taught me to accept the possibility of such mad goings-on. Once one has seen a man—of his own free will—swinging from a hook, which has been inserted into the flesh of his back, one is prepared to see or hear anything.”
“Then you do believe it’s possible Lord Hedgrave hired the Falcon to steal my statue?” Amanda said with some relief. She had feared Mrs. Gales would think she’d taken leave of her senses.
“It’s possible.” Mrs. Gales took up her
The surgeon’s countenance darkened. “The man’s done for,” he answered defensively. “My time’s better spent with those I can help.”
“Indeed. Attending to Mrs. Bullerham’s indigestion— a permanent condition, as all of us who know her will attest— is of far greater importance than attempting to make a dying man’s last hours endurable.”
On this self-righteous note, Amanda took up bowl and platter and stalked out.
Not until she’d marched halfway across the deck did she recollect she was to have sent for the valet. Just as well, she told herself. She wanted a look at his master, didn’t she?
The door opened immediately in response to her resolute knock, and the tall form of Mr. Brentick promptly blocked it.
“Miss Cavencourt,” he gasped.
A mere fraction of a moment passed before he schooled his features to polite blankness, yet that was time enough. She spied the sorrow and anxiety in his countenance, and simultaneously recalled the edge of bleakness in his voice earlier when he’d asked for help. He was genuinely distressed about his conniving employer. Amanda experienced an irrational twinge of guilt. She promptly smothered it.
“Padji had the broth ready while I was there,” she said. “It seemed foolish to let it cool while someone came to fetch you, especially when I was returning this way. Or nearly this way,” she amended with strict regard for accuracy. Her cabin was at the stern, well-lit, large, and luxurious. This, she saw as she peered past the tall, dark-coated figure, was a tiny, dark cell.
That was very kind of you, miss.” Mr. Brentick tried to take the broth from her, but she held fast and raised one autocratic eyebrow in perfect imitation of her brother. The valet retreated to let her pass.
“Oh, dear, the poor man,” she said softly, involuntarily, as she approached the invalid. He looked ghastly. “No wonder you are so alarmed.” She looked up to meet a stony blue gaze.
Amanda decided to disregard Mr. Brentick’s facial expressions. “Can you prop him up a bit?” she asked. “If you will hold him, I can feed him.”
The valet hesitated, his face stonier yet.
“It wants two people, Mr. Brentick,” she said impatiently. “While you dawdle, the broth grows cold.”
Under the stiff mask, he seemed to struggle with something, but it was a brief combat. Then, his piercing blue gaze fixed on her as though in challenge, he moved to the cot to do as she asked.
Before she’d left the cabin, Amanda had promised to send Bella on the same errand in two hours. Mr. Brentick had protested, citing the needless trouble to herself and her servant, and he had got an unpleasant glint in his eyes. Amanda had firmly ignored both words and look, and in the end, she’d won the skirmish.
She waited until Bella was gone before taking Mrs. Gales into her confidence. Then Amanda quickly outlined the rani’s tale, her own suspicions, and the information Padji had so reluctantly offered.
Mrs. Gales listened composedly, throughout occasionally interjecting a calm question. When Amanda was done, the older woman shook her head.
“Five years in India may have disordered my reason,” she said. “On the other hand, it has taught me to accept the possibility of such mad goings-on. Once one has seen a man—of his own free will—swinging from a hook, which has been inserted into the flesh of his back, one is prepared to see or hear anything.”
“Then you do believe it’s possible Lord Hedgrave hired the Falcon to steal my statue?” Amanda said with some relief. She had feared Mrs. Gales would think she’d taken leave of her senses.
“It’s possible.” Mrs. Gales took up her
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