The Sandalwood Princess by Loretta Chase Read Free Book Online Page A

tedious,” she added, “but he is responsible for everything. One cannot expect him to carry the entire burden of entertainment. I do not blame him a whit for feeling as he does. I should feel put upon myself. Yet, as I told him, the Whitestones have always been high-handed. One might as well complain of the ocean being damp, you know.”
    Amanda sat back on her heels. “I beg your pardon,” she said. “Did you say Whitestone? Whom do you mean?”
    “Richard Whitestone, Marquess of Hedgrave, my dear,” Mrs. Gales said patiently. “Very high-handed they all are. Or were, since he’s the last of his branch of the family. His heir presumptive is a distant cousin, I believe. There is the marquess, half a world away, yet the commander of an East Indiaman must do his bidding, regardless who is inconvenienced. Not that one is surprised, when most of the East India Company dances to Lord Hedgrave’s tune.” She shook her head. “Really, Amanda, I must insist you lie down and rest. You are as white as a sheet.”
    ***
    “He’s far too sick to undertake a voyage of any sort,” the ship’s surgeon said brusquely as he followed Philip out of the cabin. “Just as I told Mr. Groves last night. Kit’s fever, it’s not like any I’ve ever seen.” He paused. “Well, not since this morning, actually. Our cook showed similar symptoms.”
    For a moment, Philip felt ill himself. So that was how the murderous Indian had gotten on board the ship. But Jessup would not die, Philip told himself. He would not.
    “The physician in Calcutta seemed to think my master risked greater danger in remaining,” he said, in as placating tones as he could manage. “The climate had already weakened his constitution, and the doctor believed he’d not survive the monsoon season. Surely his case isn’t hopeless, Mr. Lambeth. I was given to understand the present ailment resulted from ingesting tainted food.”
    The surgeon continued on towards the upper deck. “No surprise, that. Confounded Indian food,” he muttered. “Spiced so hot you never know what you’re eating.” He scowled. “Blayton’s a damned fool, hiring that Indian. Miss Cavencourt herself admitted her sister-in-law couldn’t stomach the man’s cooking.”
    The queasy feeling washed through Philip again. He blamed the rolling vessel.
    “The Indian was employed by Miss Cavencourt’s family?” he asked with no more than ordinary polite curiosity. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
    “Was. Unreliable, like all of ‘em. Not a native you could trust as far as you could throw him. A sneaking runaway, that one. Admitted it himself-—boasted, even. Should have been flogged, to my way of thinking. But the lady stood up for him, and who’s going to contradict Lord Cavencourt’s sister?” Mr. Lambeth hesitated a moment, then added reluctantly, “Still and all, she don’t seem a fool, and the Indian seems to worship the ground she walks on. Whatever he gave Saunders seemed to do the man some good. Maybe you can get him to mix up one of them messes for your master. Worst it can do is kill him, and he’s not likely to last more than a week anyhow.”
    On this uplifting note, the surgeon took his leave.
    Cold-hearted swine.
    Philip returned to the cabin. Jessup lay upon his stomach, moaning faintly.
    “Is it very bad, old man?” Philip asked softly.
    “Unh.”
    “Are you thirsty? Can I give you some water?”
    “Nunh.”
    “You have to take something. You’ve got to keep up your strength, soldier,” Philip said with an attempt at heartiness.
    Under the rusty brown stubble, Jessup’s normally ruddy flesh lay flaccid and damp, a jaundiced green. The whites of the eyes he painfully opened had turned pale yellow, webbed with spidery red lines, and the brown irises were cloudy, unseeing. He mumbled something. Philip bent closer.
    “Throw... me... over,” came the gasping words.
    Philip swallowed. “Can’t,” he said. “They’ll keelhaul me. Just isn’t done.