Free Nurse in India by Juliet Armstrong Page B

voice was heard speaking ster n ly in Hindustani. “How dare you behave like this when your prince is fighting for his life? Are you human beings? Or are you chattering apes?” Then, outside the doorway, he called softly, “Have I permission to enter and see my child, Miss Hantley?”
    “Of course.” Stella felt relief at the presence of the raja. “These are the critical hours; it is good that you should be often at his side.”
    He bent over his child and touched his forehead with gentle fingers; Prithviraj, looking up, smiled at him—then, feebly turning his head, sent a smile across to Stella.
    “The English miss is so kind and so pretty,” he murmured. “Do you not see, father—her hair is a gold crown, like the one you wear when you give audience !”
    The raja gave a grave smile in return. “Hush, my little son, you must not tire yourself with talking. You need all your strength. Sleep, now.”
    Obediently the boy closed his eyes, and in a few moments he had dropped off. And then Chawand Rao turned to Stella.
    “Do you know what all this fuss is about? Is it true that the Muslim servant whom Fendish Sahib sent to wait on you is giving trouble?”
    Briefly Stella repeated what Jeythoo had told her—not without misgiving, for a certain suspicion was taking shape in her mind and she added quietly, “I should like to tell Hussein that he must allow the queen to have my room searched provided it is done in my presence—and in yours, too, if you will.”
    Chawand Rao nodded. “Very well, Miss Hantley. But I would like Mr. Verle to be on duty here with Jeythoo while we are out of the room. Then if any change occurs you can be sent for without the child ’ s being left alone.”
    A few minutes later Armand came hurrying along, looking startled but making no comment on the turn affairs had taken. With Chawand Rao at her side Stella went to her room. A knot of servants were hanging around the doorway, which was blocked by the solid figure of Hussein, and as soon as the pair of them appeared, the old rani came gliding up the corridor, her proud little head held high, her thin wrists and ankles a-jingle with ornaments.
    “Perhaps, nephew, since I no longer have authority even in the women ’ s quarter, you will give this Muslim your command to make way for my servants. Every room in this wing has been searched for my stolen jewels, save this — and your son ’ s sickroom.”
    “Miss Hantley herself wishes the search to be made.” The raja ’ s voice was suave. “You hear this, Hussein?”
    Sullenly the Muslim salaamed and moved aside, and feeling as though she were in a dream, Stella watched the Hindu servants moving about the room, peering behind the furniture, prying into drawers and draperies and bedding. Just so, she recalled, had those plainclothes men in London peered and pried into every corner of her bedroom in the apartment she had shared with Allegra Glydd; and just as surely as they had tracked down those missing gems would these Indians trace the old rani ’ s emeralds. For she was certain now that this scene was a fulfillment of that threat of the previous evening, although the coincidence seemed too extraordinary to be credible.
    And then as, motionless, she saw a servant go to her suitcase and fumble with the lock, she knew that coincidence had no hand in the affair. She remembered that false summons to the sickroom, and how when she returned the scent of sandalwood had told her of the old rani ’ s presence there a few minutes earlier. She had never known the meaning of that incident, but now it was crystal clear. Those hooded eyes that spied everywhere had seen her absorbed in writing that long letter to Roger; and she had been got out of the way just long enough for the contents to be hurriedly digested. That accomplished, a plan had been hatched in the old queen ’ s subtle brain, to be used as a last resort. It was possible, she must have reasoned, for people to believe, even against