In the months since you saved the life of Princess Alixandrina Victoria Hanover, I have been gathering as much information on your father’s mission as I have been able. The last sighting of him was in Jhelum, but there his trail went cold. Then only yesterday, intelligence came to me that a man had been found wandering along the Afghan border near the Bolan Pass. As he appeared native, he was taken in by a Pashtun tribe, though his injury has meant he has not been able to tell them who he is. It is my belief he may be your father.

  I hope this information warms your heart and gives your feet direction.

  A toast to your future, and may we meet again.

  Ernest Augustus Hanover

  Isabella reread the letter, then folded it up and placed it back into her father’s satchel. Her hands were sweating and she had to wipe them on her dress.

  There was a knock. It was Midge. He rattled the door handle.

  “Are you coming? I’m starving.”

  Isabella got to her feet just as the ship lurched, and she put a hand out to steady herself. Then she walked to the door and opened it.

  “I’m ready. Let’s go!”

  Preview

  Chapter One

  Many a Slip

  Port of Mombasa, East Africa, 1835

  Isabella braced herself against the corset tightening around her ribcage, worried that if she breathed in too far, she might never be able to breathe back out.

  “Aiee,” puffed the tiny maid behind her. “How small this is. Did they think you were a child?”

  Isabella stared at herself glumly in the mirror. Not only did the dress not fit, the colour and style did not suit her. The lime-green silk made her brown hair look faded and her tanned skin look yellow.

  “I look as though I’ve had malaria.”

  The maid peered over Isabella’s shoulder at her reflection.

  “It is not the right dress for you, I think.”

  “It’s all right, Gita, you can tell the truth. I look awful. Even my teeth” – she pulled back her lips in a grimace – “look yellow.” Gita laughed. “You know what the worst of it is?” Isabella continued. “Even though it’s so small everywhere else, there’s still one place it’s too big.” Isabella looked down at her chest where the material gaped.

  Gita snorted. “Don’t worry about that, baba. That will come in time.”

  “But I’m sixteen. Some of the girls on the boat who are younger than me … well, they already have the figures of women.”

  Gita came around to stand in front of her and pulled the mirror closer.

  “Look, you ridiculous child. You are tall and thin. Maybe your mother was like this too, or your father? It does not matter.”

  Isabella wrinkled her nose. It was all very well for Gita to say this, but she wasn’t the one who had to endure the jibes of the other girls on the boat. Girls who talked of nothing but fashion and romance, but who made it seem like a secret club to which she wasn’t invited.

  Gita had given up with the dress and started to unhook her.

  “You will eat with some guests tonight, I think.”

  Isabella frowned.

  “So I can tell the story of the heroic rescue once again?”

  Gita blew out her cheeks.

  “Hai mai. You should enjoy it. Some people will never inspire half the admiration that you have. You would do well to remember it.”

  Isabella scowled, but Gita was unrepentant.

  “Now.” Gita held out a wine-red silk shift. “Try this.”

  Isabella stepped into it. Immediately her appearance improved as the colour warmed her skin and made her brown eyes look almost black.

  “Thank you, Mama-ji. This is so much better.”

  Gita nodded just as the sound of a gong came from the deck below.

  “I had better go. Have fun, dearest.”

  Isabella salaamed with her hands to her forehead. “Thank you again.”

  The cabin door closed with a click and Isabella walked away from her unfamiliar reflection. Gita was right about how she looked. She’d been away from India for a year and in that time had grown a great deal without realising it. Now she could see what she would look like as an adult – more like her father than her mother, with her narrow fox face and her stubborn chin.

  Outside her cabin window she could see the terracotta roofs and drifting pennants of the port of Mombasa become silhouettes as the flaming sun sank behind them. She looked across the city to the horizon. High wisps of white cloud glowed pink. The sunset would bring little relief; it was July and this was Africa. Hot beyond imagining.

  Her leather satchel lay half open beneath her bed. She knelt and took out a piece of white vellum paper and unfolded it. It was worn and well-creased and though she knew what it said by heart, she couldn’t help looking at it again.

  My dearest Miss Rockwell,

  I hope this letter reaches you safely and that your voyage is progressing without incident. I had hoped to see you off, but urgent business takes me elsewhere.

  In the time I have known you, I have come to believe you possess the qualities of courage and honour that I would expect to find in the best of my soldiers. It was of no surprise to me to find that your father was Sergeant John Rockwell, the man recommended to me as the best soldier of King William’s First Horse. The man we sent to find Christopher Jolyon.

  In the months since you saved the life of Princess Alixandrina Victoria Hanover, I have been gathering as much information on your father’s mission as I have been able. The last sighting of him was in Jhelum, but there his trail went cold. Then only yesterday, intelligence came to me that a man had been found wandering along the Afghan border near the Bolan Pass. As he appeared native, he was taken in by a Pashtu tribe, though his injury has meant he has not been able to tell them who he is. It is my belief he may be your father.

  I hope this information warms your heart and gives your feet direction.

  A toast to your future, and may we meet again.

  Ernest Augustus Hanover

  There was a gentle tap at her door and she pushed the satchel back under the bed, but she wasn’t quick enough.

  “You’re not looking at it again, Iz? That letter’s going to fall apart if you’re not careful.” Midge smiled down at her. “Come on. You took ages. What’ve you been doing?”

  “Getting dressed.”

  “What? An hour to get dressed? In this heat?”

  Isabella laughed. “Just don’t ask. I take it you’re in a bad mood because you’re hungry?”

  Midge frowned. “Yes, I’m starving to death ’ere, so come on.”

  Midge held his hand out and pulled Isabella to her feet. She wasn’t the only one who’d grown. Midge, having had enough to eat for the first time in his short life, had shot up by several inches and was now as tall as she was. His face had filled out and was covered with freckles from the sun. His hair was no longer thin and dull, but thick and glossy, and where there had once been no front teeth, there were now four adult teeth, straight and white. His cold sores and jutting collar bones were a thing of the past.

  She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face, but there was no fever flush and his eyes were clear, with no shadow beneath them.

  “Did you drink your tea?”

  Midge nodded.

  “Yes, it was disgusting.”

  “It’s medicine, not hot chocolate.”

  “But I’m not ill.” Midge’s voice took on a whiny tone. Isabella glared at him. She took him by the hand and led him to her window. The slap of water rose up to them from below.

  “Look down there,” she said.

  The port of Mombasa spread out below them, throwing up a cacophony of noise and a shroud of red dust. Up and down the ship’s gangplank men carried huge sacks of oranges and lemons for the onward journey. A group of crew about to go onshore talked in loud, excited voices, now the long journey around the Cape of South Africa was behind them. Another, quieter group stood at the bottom of the gangplank. They wore white robes and were bareheaded – unusual in the Muslim port of Mombasa.

  “Look at them.” Isabella gestured with her hand.

  “Who are they?” Midge squinted into the low strong light.

  “Just watch.”

  As if they’d been waiting for her cue, the men hurried up the gangplank. A few moments later they re-emerged carrying a long wooden box covered with a white cloth.

  “What are they doing?” asked Midge as the men threaded their way into the crowd surrounding the boat.

  “Taking off a body.”

  Isabella’s words had the desired effect and Midge’s eyes widened in horror.

  “No.”

  Isabella let out an exasperated huff of air.

  “Midge. How many times must I say it? Many of our fellow passengers have never been to Africa or India before, and most of them will get ill. Some of them will die. If you drink the tea I’ve made you every day, you’ve a good chance of staying well.”

  “But you’re not drinking it. Why do I have to?”

  “I was born out here, it seems to give me some kind of protection. Abhaya always said her countrymen never got malaria as badly as the Europeans. She used to make the tea I’m giving you for the soldiers who’d arrived from England. She swore by it.” Isabella didn’t add that she’d seen other types of tropical fever take British lives with barely an introduction. Midge was far enough from home as it was, and she didn’t want to scare him more than was necessary.

  “Sorry, no one has malaria on this boat, that I’m aware of. That person” – Isabella nodded towards the men who had disappeared into a side alley – “may have died of something else.”

  Midge smiled at her, a broad, artless smile which forgave her, and she felt a tug at her heart.

  “I only nag because I promised Ruby I’d look after you.” She put a gentle hand on his shoulder. His head dropped at the mention of Ruby’s name.

  “I know,” he muttered. A pelican landed on the floor of the deck below with a grunt and flapped his wings at a passing crew, his big, pink mouth half open. “What do you think they’re all doing now? You know, at home?” His voice sounded very young all of a sudden.

  Isabella came away from the window and sat down on her bed. He sat next to her.

  “Well, I think Zachariah is probably polishing his boots and cursing.”

  “Why is he cursing?”

  Isabella stuck her feet out in front of her.

  “Because he hates doing his cleaning and in the army you have to clean things almost all the time. If it’s not your equipment, it’s your bunk, and I’m not sure housekeeping is Zachariah’s strong point.” Isabella snuck a sideways glance at Midge, but his head was still lowered. “And Lily, I should think, is doing her colouring, except that she’s drawing on the walls instead of on paper in her smart new schoolroom.”

  Midge’s head lifted a little.

  “And the others?”

  “I think they are all having tea. They’ve finished in the schoolroom and now they’re having bangers and mash.”

  Midge looked up. “With gravy?”

  Isabella nodded. “With gravy.”

  “And Ruby … if she were still alive?” But he choked on the last word and his eyes filled with tears. Isabella pulled him close.

  “I picture Ruby living with Princess Alix who has made her one of her ladies-in-waiting, so all she does all day is drink hot chocolate and go riding. The only boring thing Ruby has to do is help Princess Alix decide what to wear every day.”

  Midge rubbed his nose with his sleeve. “She liked clothes, though, so she’d have enjoyed that.”

  “In the evening,” continued Isabella, “I think they listen to books being read and play with Princess Alix’s puppy and then Ruby goes home to the children who are housed in the grounds of the palace.” Isabella paused. “She’s very happy.”

  “I hope it’s like that for her in heaven.”

  “Me too. For someone as wonderful as Ruby I think it will be even nicer.” A shaft of sunlight came through the porthole and fell on the blue carpet in a circle in front of him. “Maybe that’s her letting us know she’s all right.”

  Midge held his hand out and the sunbeams danced around his fingers.

  “Thought you didn’t believe in all that hoodoo stuff.”

  Isabella pulled a face and fiddled with the white cotton counterpane. “I do, sometimes.”

  “What, cos of Abhaya?” Isabella nodded. “You seen her ghost?” She’d got his full attention now.

  “No. But I’ve heard her.”

  Midge finally smiled. “When?”

  “Often. But then, she always had a lot to say. It really started when I ran away from the Moleseys’ house last December.” Isabella’s voice became hushed and she felt her throat tighten. It had been a long time since she’d talked of all this. From the deck below came the sound of violins tuning up and the setting sun caught the mirror on her dressing table.

  “Why did you run away?”

  Isabella frowned. “I heard them talking. Lady Molesey and my escort Mrs Trotter. Saying how there was no money for me from my father’s regiment, how they’d organised for me to come to London and go into service to hide the fact. Or to hide me. I didn’t really think about it. All I knew was I wasn’t going to be someone’s maid if there was no money at the end of it.”

  “Have we enough money now?”

  Midge’s face tightened; no one else would have noticed, but Isabella did. Knowing his history, how hard he’d fought to put food in his mouth, day in and day out.

  For Midge, there might never be enough.

  “Yes. We’re fine. We’ve got enough from Prince Ernest to get us to Rawalpindi, where my father’s money is waiting.”

  “But it’s a long way, isn’t it? What happens if we get robbed?”

  She hugged him.

  “We get robbed.” Seeing Midge’s look of alarm, Isabella continued with her story. “Do you want to hear about how I found you?” Midge looked up and nodded. He loved stories about himself. Isabella curled her toes and pushed her hair back. “Three days I’d been on the streets. That’s when I heard Abhaya’s voice, or her presence or something. She kept making me move on. It was so cold I just wanted to go to sleep and not wake up.”

  Midge nodded knowingly. “Yeah, but that’s when it gets you. You’d ’ave frozen to death.”

  “Well, I’d been sleeping under the arches at Vauxhall, but I got moved on by a Peeler I followed a driver to where he stabled his drays and snuck in. It was just before I closed the door that I saw you being beaten up by the Barrow Boys. You looked like a very small, bloody snowman.”

  Midge giggled. “You flattened them.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” Isabella looked pleased with herself. “The rest you know, but Abhaya helped me a lot when Lily was ill. I could hear her voice telling me what to do, what medicines to use. It was as if she was next to me.”

  There was an intake of breath from Midge.

  “I’d forgotten about Lily being so ill.”

  Midge still had a child’s perception of time in that yesterday, today and tomorrow were really the only days that counted. Isabella looked around her luxurious cabin at the polished brass and shining wood, but she didn’t really see them. She was remembering the den she had lived in with Midge and his gang of orphans. The makeshift walls of sweet-smelling coffee sacks and floor of wood. How the windows would have ice on the inside until one of them got the fire going in the morning. They’d had very little and had gone to bed hungry more times than Isabella cared to remember, but Midge’s gang had welcomed her in and shown her the real meaning of kindness.

  “We’d stolen that food, hadn’t we, that day, from Covent Garden?”

  “Yeah. Their Christmas shopping.” She giggled. “Served them right.”

  There was a pause in the noise from outside and then the sound of a merry tune cut through the humid air.

  “You know, when Princess Alix took you in, I didn’t think we’d ever see you again,” said Midge.

  Isabella squeezed his arm. “I know. I don’t think Zachariah did either.”

  Seventeen-year-old Zachariah had been in charge of them all. Tricky, handsome Zachariah with whom Isabella had clashed more than once.

  She got up from the bed and went over to the dressing table. She straightened the silver brushes. “I can’t pretend I didn’t think about it. It would have been easy.” She turned and looked at Midge, a still-slight figure beneath her bed’s canopy. Midge’s expression was older than his years. Funny how they were all like that, the street children. Old eyes in young faces.

  “So what made you stay?”

  Isabella felt the stain of a blush creep up her chest. “I left Abhaya when I shouldn’t have and she died. I couldn’t do it again, not to you and Zach, and not to Alix. I’d hoped to find a way to make it all work – but in the end I couldn’t.”

  Midge’s voice was gruff. “You saved Alix’s life, which meant none of us will ever have to go hungry again. I think you done pretty well.”

  Isabella’s throat closed as the memory of the icy New Year’s Eve came flooding back. Ruby’s inert body and her sightless eyes as Isabella had gathered her in her arms whilst Princess Alix’s body drifted to the bottom of the lake, her hair a halo of gold in the water around her. Isabella felt again the heart-stopping cold of the water and the heaviness of her own limbs as she’d dragged Alix’s dead weight to shore. The images Isabella had tried to banish every night since sprang fully formed into her mind: Alix’s waxy skin, the mud under her fingernails, her stilled breathing.

  Midge’s touch was feather light on her arm, and the pictures dispersed like steam off a teacup. Her cabin came back into view.

  “Sorry.” She smiled.

  “You were miles away. You still getting them dreams?”

  “Once in a while, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry.” She paused. “Shall we go and get some dinner if you’re feeling better?”

  But Midge walked past her as if he hadn’t heard her. Isabella shook her head. He was always like this after he’d talked about Ruby. He’d pretend his tears hadn’t happened, that he’d never been upset, but the pain of loss wasn’t something that could be fobbed off like an unwelcome dinner guest. It had a nasty habit of coming back when it was least expected, as well she knew.

 

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