Free The Sandalwood Princess by Loretta Chase Page A

on the floor. How the devil had she managed that? As she moved away, Philip glimpsed a large brown shoulder at the corner of the open doorway. Padji. So that was how.
    Gad, how long had he lain unconscious? They might have ransacked the entire cabin by now.
    Philip waited patiently until the pair had departed and their footsteps faded away. Then he sat up slowly, fighting the urge to vomit, and crawled onto his hands and knees. The trunk was still wedged against the wall, and his mattress had been pushed against it. He fumbled in his coat, found the key, and unlocked the trunk. His arms seemed to be made of blancmange. He needed three attempts to get the lid up.
    A few endless, stomach-churning minutes later, he sank back onto the mattress. They’d touched nothing. The tiny telltale feather lay exactly as he’d placed it, upon the small rag in which the Laughing Princess still nestled. He’d made certain all was as it should be before replacing all as it had been.
    What the devil was she about? A golden opportunity, and she and the Indian had ignored it. Why did she bother with him, with Jessup? Why hadn’t she let Jessup die? That would be one obstacle out of the way. And today—an ideal opportunity for Padji to eliminate Philip himself. Easy enough to render a swoon fatal, with the mistress by to create any needed distraction. Why had nothing happened? Was it possible she didn’t know, after all? Or was she more cunning than he imagined?
    He couldn’t think any more. Not now. Later. His head fell back upon the pillow, and in minutes he was asleep.
    ***
    “It’s in the trunk,” Amanda said. With trembling hands she brought the tumbler of wine to her lips and sipped. She and Mrs. Gales sat on the cushioned banquette under the row of windows.
    Mrs. Gales’s needle was not so steady as usual. “You promised to be careful,” she said. “That was foolhardy, Amanda. Suppose he or Mr. Wringle had wakened?”
    “Padji saw to that. I don’t know what he used. At any rate, I had the cloth over Mr. Brentick’s eyes, and Padji was very quick. He’d got the keys when he was carrying Mr. Brentick to the cabin. Then we had all the bustle of carrying in the mattress. I made sure to ask whether there were clean linens. If either had awakened, that would have been our excuse for rummaging.” Amanda swallowed a bit more wine before adding, “Padji was in and out of the trunk in about a minute. I’d hardly turned my head before he was done.”
    “Indeed. Practice makes perfect, I suppose,” Mrs. Gales said dryly. “Still, your aptitude in the matter is a surprise. Your presence of mind seems nothing short of miraculous.”
    “Hardly. If Padji hadn’t been nearby, it would never have occurred to me to take advantage of the situation. When Mr. Brentick fainted, I nearly did, too, I was so . . . taken aback.”
    Frightened, half to death. Every day she’d watched his brief ventures above, and her heart had gone out to him, so sick and miserable he seemed.
    At first she’d told herself this was just as he deserved for associating with a low criminal like Mr. Wringle. But Reason had promptly pointed out it was fully possible the valet had no idea what his employer had been up to. Why should Wringle tell his servant? If he had, why should the valet risk his own health to care for such a man? Just suppose Mr. Brentick were of the same dishonest ilk. Wouldn’t he do far better to let his master die, and collect the reward himself? There must be a reward—a considerable one—to drive Wringle from Calcutta in his condition.
    The more she’d reflected, the more evidence Amanda found to make the valet an innocent bystander. And today...
    How she wished she’d not remained in the cabin to nurse him. She should have summoned Bella. As yet, the maid knew nothing about the statue, except that it had been stolen in Calcutta. Her conscience would not have shrieked while she listened to Mr. Brentick’s delirious mutterings. The