Fever Quest: A Clean Historical Mystery set in England and India (The Isabella Rockwell Trilogy Book 2) by Hannah Parry Page A
Authors: Hannah Parry
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our problems,” mused
Livia.
“How do you mean?” asked Rose.
“Well, a couple of nice-size diamonds would set us up for
life, wouldn’t they, Isabella?” Isabella nodded. Livia’s eyes were dreamy, but
her mouth was set in a hard line. “They would buy us a comfortable little house
and some land with a few servants. Then we could do what we wanted. We’d be
dependent on no one.” Her voice petered out in the light wind blowing from the
east; the horses pricked up their ears at the scent of water.
“You don’t want to go back to England,” said Rose as a
statement rather than a question. “Even in disguise.”
Livia looked at her, her face unreadable. “Do you?”
Rose shook her head. “Not if you don’t.”
“Good.” Livia smiled her sudden smile. “We’re in
agreement.”
“I didn’t know we hadn’t been,” said Rose.
“No, but it’s good to know where one stands.”
“Now you’re sounding like your mother.”
Livia leaned forward and bashed Rose on the shoulder,
whilst Isabella urged her horse downwards, slipping on the scree of the
hillside.
An hour later they came to the main gate of the city, the
great Bala Hissar, a pointed stone arch over the road. It was dark now and
torches flared along the wall, and threw the bottom of into deep shadow.
Flaming braziers stood either side of the gate and ten soldiers of the
Maharajah’s guard leant casually, chatting quietly. Isabella wasn’t deceived by
their apparent nonchalance. She could see the size of their scimitars.
Isabella dismounted.
“It’s a late hour for visitors,” said a huge guard with a
scar on his face.
Isabella swallowed and salaamed as politely as she could.
“Are we too late to enter or should we come back tomorrow
morning, sir?”
“It depends what your business is,” the guard rumbled
back.
“I have a package for Colonel Stone. My name is Isabella
Rockwell.”
“Why the ferenghi name?”
Isabella smiled. “My parents were from Belait.”
The guard looked at her, but before he could speak another
man detached himself from a group on the other side of the gate and came
closer. He was taller and thinner than the others and his clothes were well cut
and of unusually colourful cloth. He had a fine pencil moustache and on his
turban lay a large tear-shaped pearl. Isabella felt the girls’ eyes drawn to it
as much as her own were.
“You are Isabella Rockwell?” His voice was soft with a
slight lisp, but he spoke English.
Isabella nodded. He lifted his slim long-fingered hands in
a salaam, which Isabella returned.
“My name is Lakshman. I have been told to keep an ear out
for your arrival. Please” – he held his hand out towards the city behind the
gate – “follow me.”
The guards took their horses and the girls followed the
man under the gate and onto the torch-lit road that led to the heart of the
city.
Isabella looked back at Livia, who raised her
brows. Beyond Livia, the gate was being lowered, its heavy base thumping into
the sand so that the land beyond and the hill where they had first stood disappeared,
and nothing was visible but shadows dancing on the ground.
The flames guttered in their sconces on the wall as
Lakshman led them along a high rampart and down a long flight of steps to
another heavily guarded gate. There was more life at this gate, despite the
lateness of the hour. The moon was now high in the sky, throwing its silvery
light on the surrounding land. Isabella thought she could see lights in the
east – maybe more torches, or some fires? Four British soldiers stood on the
other side of the gate and helped her into a small cart.
She hesitated. “What about my companions?”
“They will be made comfortable. You can see them after
you’ve seen the colonel.”
The road beneath the carriage was very well made, a smooth
stretch of stone instead of dirt that pulled at feet and clogged up wheels.
Nothing grew on either side except for scrubby bushes, and with the night
Livia.
“How do you mean?” asked Rose.
“Well, a couple of nice-size diamonds would set us up for
life, wouldn’t they, Isabella?” Isabella nodded. Livia’s eyes were dreamy, but
her mouth was set in a hard line. “They would buy us a comfortable little house
and some land with a few servants. Then we could do what we wanted. We’d be
dependent on no one.” Her voice petered out in the light wind blowing from the
east; the horses pricked up their ears at the scent of water.
“You don’t want to go back to England,” said Rose as a
statement rather than a question. “Even in disguise.”
Livia looked at her, her face unreadable. “Do you?”
Rose shook her head. “Not if you don’t.”
“Good.” Livia smiled her sudden smile. “We’re in
agreement.”
“I didn’t know we hadn’t been,” said Rose.
“No, but it’s good to know where one stands.”
“Now you’re sounding like your mother.”
Livia leaned forward and bashed Rose on the shoulder,
whilst Isabella urged her horse downwards, slipping on the scree of the
hillside.
An hour later they came to the main gate of the city, the
great Bala Hissar, a pointed stone arch over the road. It was dark now and
torches flared along the wall, and threw the bottom of into deep shadow.
Flaming braziers stood either side of the gate and ten soldiers of the
Maharajah’s guard leant casually, chatting quietly. Isabella wasn’t deceived by
their apparent nonchalance. She could see the size of their scimitars.
Isabella dismounted.
“It’s a late hour for visitors,” said a huge guard with a
scar on his face.
Isabella swallowed and salaamed as politely as she could.
“Are we too late to enter or should we come back tomorrow
morning, sir?”
“It depends what your business is,” the guard rumbled
back.
“I have a package for Colonel Stone. My name is Isabella
Rockwell.”
“Why the ferenghi name?”
Isabella smiled. “My parents were from Belait.”
The guard looked at her, but before he could speak another
man detached himself from a group on the other side of the gate and came
closer. He was taller and thinner than the others and his clothes were well cut
and of unusually colourful cloth. He had a fine pencil moustache and on his
turban lay a large tear-shaped pearl. Isabella felt the girls’ eyes drawn to it
as much as her own were.
“You are Isabella Rockwell?” His voice was soft with a
slight lisp, but he spoke English.
Isabella nodded. He lifted his slim long-fingered hands in
a salaam, which Isabella returned.
“My name is Lakshman. I have been told to keep an ear out
for your arrival. Please” – he held his hand out towards the city behind the
gate – “follow me.”
The guards took their horses and the girls followed the
man under the gate and onto the torch-lit road that led to the heart of the
city.
Isabella looked back at Livia, who raised her
brows. Beyond Livia, the gate was being lowered, its heavy base thumping into
the sand so that the land beyond and the hill where they had first stood disappeared,
and nothing was visible but shadows dancing on the ground.
The flames guttered in their sconces on the wall as
Lakshman led them along a high rampart and down a long flight of steps to
another heavily guarded gate. There was more life at this gate, despite the
lateness of the hour. The moon was now high in the sky, throwing its silvery
light on the surrounding land. Isabella thought she could see lights in the
east – maybe more torches, or some fires? Four British soldiers stood on the
other side of the gate and helped her into a small cart.
She hesitated. “What about my companions?”
“They will be made comfortable. You can see them after
you’ve seen the colonel.”
The road beneath the carriage was very well made, a smooth
stretch of stone instead of dirt that pulled at feet and clogged up wheels.
Nothing grew on either side except for scrubby bushes, and with the night
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