The Satapur Moonstone by Sujata Massey (Perveen Mistry #2)
English | 2019 | Mystery & Thriller | ePUB | 2.7 Mb
The Satapur Moonstone :The highly anticipated follow-up to the critically acclaimed novel The Widows of Malabar Hill.
India, 1922: It is rainy season in the lush, remote Sahyadri mountains, where the princely state of Satapur is tucked away. A curse seems to have fallen upon Satapur’s royal family, whose maharaja died of a sudden illness shortly before his teenage son was struck down in a tragic hunting accident. The state is now ruled by an agent of the British Raj on behalf of Satapur’s two maharanis, the dowager queen and her daughter-in-law.
The royal ladies are in a dispute over the education of the young crown prince, and a lawyer’s counsel is required. However, the maharanis live in purdah and do not speak to men. Just one person can help them: Perveen Mistry, Bombay’s only female lawyer. Perveen is determined to bring peace to the royal house and make a sound recommendation for the young prince’s future, but she arrives to find that the Satapur palace is full of cold-blooded power plays and ancient vendettas. Too late, she realizes she has walked into a trap. But whose? And how can she protect the royal children from the palace’s deadly curse?
“Good morning, Sir David. Did you ride earlier?” She tried to sound less shaken than she felt. If Perveen was going to be thrown out of the European-established club because of her race, she could not let the matter pass without protest. But Sir David didn’t know she was a member of the Indian National Congress, an all-Indian group advocating for civil rights. He understood only that she was his daughter Alice’s former classmate at Oxford, a young woman who was rising in Bombay’s legal scene.
He shook his head. “I came for a quick breakfast before going over to the Secretariat. The eggs are very good here. Would you care to join me?”
So she wasn’t being thrown out, which was good news. Still, she disliked the idea of going off without telling Alice.
“But I’m . . .” Perveen gestured at her riding clothing, which was not a sporty tweed habit like Alice wore but a light cotton jacket and a voluminous split skirt, the slightly outmoded garment her mother had presented her with as being suitable for an Indian woman doing something as outré as horseback riding.
“Don’t give it another thought. People wear riding clothes on the veranda. I’ll be the odd one out.”
She still felt uneasy. “But Alice—”