The Maharani's Pearls Read Online Free Page A

to give him time to get into position, my father,
     had had a clear view of the man holding Miss Stewart at gunpoint. As soon as she had
     fallen down in a faint, my father has also had a clean shot. Between them and he and
     Simon had come up with a hasty but clever plan.
    He quickly joined Simon at the summerhouse, and together they reached in and pulled
     out a man in the livery of the Maharani’s grooms. He was shot through the shoulder,
     his right arm hanging limp down by his side, but his face was twisted in fury. I saw
     him spit in Simon’s direction, but Simon had already leapt back.
    My father, quite angry, helped Miss Stewart to her feet.
    I went racing to the parlour, where my mother was leaning against the wall, the revolver
     still clutched in her hand. Her face was pale.
    “I was so afraid he’d hurt her before I could get a clear shot. Thank God your father
     came in time,” she said, then smiled at me. “Are you all right, love?” she asked me,
     straightening up to put her arm around me.
    I could see, through the window, that Miss Stewart was clinging to Simon as if to
     a lifeline, and my father was just handing the wounded man over to Sergeant Barton.
    As the man turned toward the house, I could see for the first time that he was the
     one with the ugly scar across his face. And then Sergeant Barton and a corporal were
     leading him away, out of the garden toward the colonel’s office.
    My father looked up at the house, and came striding toward the verandah and the parlour
     door. He came through it like a whirlwind, scooping my mother into his arms and holding
     her close. Over her head, he grimaced at me.
    “And just how many more rules have you broken this day?” he said to me. “Bursting
     into the barracks without permission, leading a foray into the garden and crawling
     through your own window, not to mention invading my study with armed men.”
    Ignoring that, I said quickly, “The Maharani—­is she all right? And the rest of these
     men who wanted to harm her? What’s become of them?”
    “Your father managed to do a bit of the work himself, you know,” he said, the grimace
     fading into a grin. “We got there in time, although those men put up quite a fight.
     But it was short lived. The one with the scar got away, and we tried to catch him
     before he reached the compound. But we were delayed by the mopping up. The Maharani
     is well, and she sends her love.”
    My mother moved away from his embrace. “I was so worried for you,” she said, touching
     his face before adding, “I must see to Miss Stewart. A cup of hot tea, I think, with
     a little of your brandy in it, if you don’t mind, my dear.”
    She handed him the revolver and strode out of the parlor toward the garden. I watched
     her reach out to help Simon with the still-­shaken governess.
    My father’s face was stern when he turned to me. “You took too many unnecessary risks,”
     he said.
    “It was Mother who was at risk. I was on the other side of the garden when it started.”
    “It could have been you and not Miss Stewart in his clutches.”
    “That’s true,” I admitted, knowing he was right. “What were they going to do? Take
     the Maharani as hostage? Or kill her?”
    “It appears that they were expecting to force the Maharajah to give up his title in
     favor of his cousin, and then leave for exile in England.” My father looked toward
     the garden and the summerhouse. “I’d wager he and the Maharani wouldn’t have made
     it to Bombay alive, even if he’d agreed to leave.”
    “What will happen to the cousin now?”
    “I shan’t inquire too closely,” my father said. “I was told once that there was an
     old dungeon beneath the palace. It hasn’t been used in two generations. I shouldn’t
     be surprised if it’s occupied for a while.”
    I could hear Colonel Haldane’s voice on the path leading up to our door. My father
     heard it too.
    “Least in sight,” he said to me, then put