The Maharani's Pearls (5 page)

Authors: Charles Todd

BOOK: The Maharani's Pearls

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“Yes, he was very happy when the Army found a use for him, although I daresay he’d
have been much happier if they’d sent him back to the regiment,” I answered lightly.
“I think he misses that.”

Whatever my father—and Simon—were doing to help King and Country, it was kept quiet.
They appeared and disappeared without warning, and I knew it was not something to
be talked about.

But Sergeant Wilkins didn’t say anything more.

We drove in silence to The Monarch Hotel, and there he was lifted once more into his
chair and I wheeled him across Reception to the lift. Several people noticed us and
there was a smattering of applause as we passed, an account of our afternoon having
made the rounds.

The sergeant nodded his thanks, but I thought he would have preferred not to be such
a center of attention. I’d found this to be true of many decorated men. They had done
what they had done for their comrades, not for public acclaim.

The lift doors closed on us and he sighed with relief. “That was unexpected.”

“I’m sure the hotel was pleased to have you staying here.”

“I’m no hero,” he said sharply. “What I did had to be done. And there was an end to
it.”

I didn’t answer him. The lift doors opened, and we moved down the passage to his room.

When I got him there, he said, “Don’t fuss. Please.”

“Your bandages are fresh. There’s a list of medications on the table. I’ll see what
you ought to be taking just now.”

“Sister Crawford.”

I turned toward him.

“Please. I have a few friends who would like to step in tonight. Nothing more than
a brief word. If I take my powders now, and rest awhile, will you allow me to speak
to them? I’m returning to hospital tomorrow, early. It will be my only chance.”

“There’s your dinner,” I pointed out.

“I’m not hungry. I ate a very good breakfast and had an excellent lunch. Thompson
saw to that. I’d rather just—these men were—I haven’t seen them since I was wounded
and left France.” His voice cracked. “They recovered faster than I did, and they’re
sailing themselves in a matter of days. Surely you understand?”

I wasn’t happy about this. Still, his wounds had healed well enough for him to make
the journey to London. And there had been no one at the ceremony from his family.
Perhaps seeing men he’d served with would be just the thing. Sometimes healing the
body also meant healing the mind.
Something
was troubling him. It was in his eyes, in the lines about his mouth. And not just
the grim lines of pain.

“There will be no drinking, no carousing.”

He smiled wryly. “I give you my word. Besides . . .” He shrugged. “It’s not a time
for that, is it?”

With reluctance, I let him have his way. “I’ll come back at nine o’clock, shall I,
to see if you need anything. And to give you your last powder. I’ll expect your friends
to be gone by that time. You’ve a long day ahead of you tomorrow, traveling.”

“Better still, leave the next powder by my cup. I’ll take it after my friends go.
You can trust me to do it right. God knows, I’ve been taking them long enough.”

I had the briefest frisson of fear. He wasn’t planning on doing himself a harm, was
he? The powders could kill, in the wrong amount.

As if he understood what I was thinking, he added, “I have every reason to live, Sister.
I just have to heal first.”

It was against the rules to let him take his own powders. And I said as much.

“There’s your duty. I understand. All right, come in at nine o’clock if you must.
I don’t mind.” There was resignation in his voice.

He’d been cooped up in hospital for months. And sometimes a little relaxation of the
rules could give a patient a fresh start, renewing his belief in his recovery and
his eventual return to duty. It was what so many of them wanted.

I warned, “If you’re foolish tonight, you could set back your recovery by weeks. Months
even. You’ve come too far to take that risk.”

He said, his voice level and yet forceful, “A medal doesn’t buy me a place on a transport
ship. Only the doctor can do that.”

It was reassuring. I took a deep breath. I was responsible for his welfare—but I
was not his jailer.

I put the powder by his cup. Then I got him into bed, gave him his afternoon medicines,
and handed him the book he’d been reading. “I’ll leave the lamp on beside your bed.
When the last friend says good night, he can see to it for you, if you like. If he’s
sober enough to find the door in the dark.”

Sergeant Wilkins laughed. “They’re not much for drinking. My friends. We’ve been through
too much. Besides, it doesn’t help. Terry will probably be the last to leave. And
he can find his way anywhere in the dark.”

“Good enough,” I replied, and then, with one last glance around, I started for the
door.

“Could you move the water jug closer to hand? Several of those powders leave me thirsty.”

I moved the jug to where he could easily reach it, and he lifted his good hand in
a friendly wave, settling back against his pillows as I walked to the door.

I closed it behind me, and went on down the passage to my own room.

Simon was waiting there for me.

“Did it go well? The ceremony?”

“Very well.” I told him what had transpired, and then added what the King had had
to say about the Colonel Sahib.

Simon smiled. “He’ll be pleased. Shall I tell him, or will you?”

“I don’t think I’ll see him before I sail. I leave very early Thursday morning.”

“And what about your patient? Are you having his dinner sent up to him?”

I explained what we, Sergeant Wilkins and I, had decided.

“A little unusual, isn’t it?”

“Very. On the other hand, his injuries aren’t critical just now, or the Palace would
have waited to summon him for the ceremony. This is just that slow, wearing time when
there appears to be no progress. And then suddenly your exercises begin, and you wish
yourself
back
in this limbo.”

“As I know very well,” Simon replied wryly. He’d been severely wounded not all that
long ago. “If you have no other plans, I’ll take you to dinner.”

“I’d rather stay close to the hotel,” I said. “There’s a dining room downstairs.”

Simon rose from his chair. “Then I’ll give you a little time to rest, and return around
six. A little early perhaps, but if you’re to look in on the sergeant later this evening,
we shan’t have to dash upstairs at the last minute.”

I was grateful for his understanding.

He left, and kicking off my shoes, removing my apron and cap, I sat down in the chair
that Simon had just vacated and sighed.

This brief interlude had brought me a little more time in England, but by Thursday
I’d be eager to return to my duties in France. It was where my years of training and
experience counted in the endless struggle to save lives. It had been difficult, exhausting,
and stressful work often enough, and all of us in Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military
Nursing Service had had bad dreams from time to time, dreams we tried not to remember
in the light of morning. But knowing we’d made a difference kept us going.

I must have drifted into a light sleep. And then my internal clock woke me at a little
before five thirty. I was dressed and ready when Simon knocked on my door just at
six.

He smiled and said, “I expected to find you asleep.”

I returned the smile. “After visiting Buckingham Palace? How could I sleep?” I replied,
stepping out into the passage. It was quiet. I glanced down toward the sergeant’s
door, but all was quiet in that direction as well. If his friends were coming, they’d
been thoughtful enough to give him time to rest before descending on him. That was
reassuring.

We went down to the hotel’s dining room, where Simon had already booked a table, and
it was a pleasant dinner. I wished my mother could have been here—she would have
enjoyed the outing—but Simon and I were always comfortable together.

We were still sitting there, talking over our after-dinner cup of tea, when Simon
glanced at his watch and said, “It’s nearly nine o’clock. Go on up and look in on
your patient. I’ll see to the account and then escort you safely to your room.”

I did just that, taking the lift and walking down to Sergeant Wilkins’s door. It was
quiet, and I knocked softly.

There was no answer. And I couldn’t see a light under the door. His friends had come
and gone, he was asleep.

I tried the door, found it locked. Frowning, I tried it again. This time it opened,
as if it had been jammed, and I stepped into the doorway, listening.

I could just see the outline of Sergeant Wilkins’s body under the coverlet, but his
breathing was so quiet and deep that I could hardly be sure I heard it.

Had he taken his powder, as he’d promised? After his friends had left?

On the floor next to the table by the bed, a crumpled bit of white paper lay, as if
he’d accidently brushed it off as he put down his cup. Yes, all was well.

I listened a few seconds longer, then, satisfied, I closed the door again quite gently
and walked on toward my own room. Simon was just stepping out of the lift.

“All well?”

“Yes, he’s asleep. I didn’t disturb him. He’s taken his evening powder, as he’d promised
he would.”

“Good. All right, go inside and lock your door. I’ll come by tomorrow after you’ve
seen the patient off to Shrewsbury. I’ll even take you to lunch.”

“Done. Thank you for dinner,” I said, and went into my room. I’d brought a book with
me from Somerset and tried to read for a while, but I was in bed by ten thirty. The
deep fatigue of France hadn’t quite left me, or perhaps it was the excitement of the
ceremony at the Palace. At any rate, I was asleep before the hands on my little clock
reached eleven.

About the Author

CHARLES TODD is the
New York Times
bestselling author of the Inspector Ian Rutledge mysteries, the Bess Crawford mysteries,
and two stand-alone novels. A mother-and-son writing team, they live in Delaware
and North Carolina, respectively.

Visit their website at www.charlestodd.com.

Visit
www.AuthorTracker.com
for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

Also by Charles Todd

The Ian Rutledge Mysteries

A Test of Wills

Wings of Fire

Search the Dark

Legacy of the Dead

Watchers of Time

A Fearsome Doubt

A Cold Treachery

The Bess Crawford Mysteries

Other Fiction

The Murder Stone

The Walnut Tree

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.

THE MAHARANI’S
PEARLS.
Copyright © 2014 by Charles Todd. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American
Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the
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hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition JULY 2014 ISBN: 9780062369239

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