Read the book: «One Maid's Mischief», page 12
Volume One – Chapter Twenty Nine.
Later On
Seeing how earnestly the Princess was talking to Grey Stuart, Chumbley looked around for another companion amongst the busy, chatting throng, and found him in the person of Doctor Bolter, who was coming that way.
“Well?” said the latter.
“Well?” replied Chumbley.
“It’s all right.”
“Right? Oh, yes, I think so; but, I say, doctor, the next time you are lunching with a native, and you think the cups are poisoned, don’t show it quite so plainly.”
“Did I show it, my dear boy?”
“Horribly,” said Chumbley, coolly. “Here are you, a man who passes his time in giving other people numbers of poisonous doses, and yet you make so much fuss about taking one yourself!”
“Tut – tut, man! Tut – tut!” ejaculated the doctor. “Hold your whisht, as old Stuart says. I couldn’t help the thought; but it was a very unjust one I must say.”
“So purposeless,” said Chumbley. “Why should the Princess want to poison us?”
“Out of spite perhaps,” said the doctor. “I don’t think we have behaved very generously to her in reply to her appeal.”
“On the head of the Colonial Secretary be it,” said Chumbley, relapsing into his slow drawl.
“But unfortunately it does not fall upon his head,” retorted the doctor, grimly. “The Princess, disappointed in her appeal, could not reach the Colonial Secretary in London, but she could reach us.”
“And she won’t do anything of the kind, doctor,” said Chumbley, warmly. “She’s a very good sort of woman, in spite of her skin, and her party is a great success. It will be our turn to do something next.”
“What, in the shape of a feed?”
“Yes, I think so; only this hot climate seems to take all the energy out of a fellow.”
For the Princess’s party was undoubtedly a grand success, the fairy-like aspect of the scene adding immensely to the effect. The conduct of the Sultan was simply perfect; and his efforts to supplement the hostess in her endeavour to give pleasure won the encomiums of all.
As evening approached there was a little nervousness displayed by the ladies at the idea of staying late; and one and all appealed to Mrs Bolter, who immediately began metaphorically to play the part of hen, and displayed a desire to gather the whole of the ladies beneath her wings.
“I promise you there is no occasion for fear,” said the Princess, earnestly; “and besides, if you depart so soon, the preparations my people have made to illuminate the jungle will be all in vain.”
“What do you say, Mr Harley?” said little Mrs Bolter, rather petulantly, for she was growing tired. “Dr Bolter is not near for me to appeal to him. Don’t you think we ought to go?”
“You will miss the moonlight ride down the river if you go so soon,” said the Princess, “and that will be far more beautiful than anything here.”
“I think,” said the Resident, quietly, “that when our friend and ally – ”
“Ally, Mr Harley?” said the Princess, in a low voice.
“Has taken so much pains for our gratification, we should be behaving coldly if we hurried away. Ladies, I think I may promise you a safe return.”
“Safe return?” said the Princess.
“Yes,” said the Resident; “the river is deep, but perfectly clear of obstructions, and we have good rowers and good boats.”
The Princess was on the whole so pressing, and seemed so likely to be offended if her proposals were slighted, that after a little consultation it was finally determined to stay, and the time passed rapidly on.
The Rajah had provided music and Malay dancers, while the Inche Maida’s women proved to be possessed of pleasant voices, singing in chorus in a mournful minor way. Then, as the evening closed in, and the ingeniously-arranged lamps kept starting into life amidst the lustrous green of the forest trees, the scene became more and more fairy-like, and beautiful in the extreme.
“Talk about the Arabian nights,” said Chumbley in the interval of a dance, during which he had Helen Perowne for partner, “I think they would have had to be very fine nights indeed to come up to this. It is about the best thing I ever saw.”
“Yes,” said Helen, dreamily, “it is very charming;” and she glanced carelessly round from beneath her long fringed lids, as if she were quite accustomed to displays made in her honour and they quite palled upon her.
“Yes, it is charming,” said Chumbley, in an amused way. “Get much of this sort of thing at school?”
Helen’s eyes opened wide, and she darted an angry look at the speaker.
“How she would like to bring me to my knees,” thought Chumbley to himself.
“The insolent! How dare he treat me as if I were a schoolgirl? but I’ll punish him yet.”
The quadrille went on, and at the end Chumbley led his partner round the open space set apart for the dancers; Helen languidly using her fan, and lowering her eyes or talking to the lieutenant whenever they passed the Rajah.
“I say, Miss Perowne,” said Chumbley, lightly, just as they were near the Princess, who was talking quietly to Grey Stuart and the Resident, “how would you like to give up civilisation, and live out here?”
“What an absurd question, Mr Chumbley!” she replied, haughtily, and with the knowledge that question and answer were heard by the group they passed. “Not at all; I detest the barbarity of the country, and the Malay customs!”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Chumbley; “I don’t see much barbarity. The people are simple in their habits, but decidedly refined.”
“Absurd!” said Helen, contemptuously.
“I think Miss Perowne promised me her hand for the next dance,” said the Rajah, approaching with a soft, cat-like step, smiling and bowing the while.
Helen looked annoyed, but she was mistress of her emotions; and quietly relinquishing Chumbley’s arm, she laid her gloved hand upon the Rajah’s sleeve as coolly as if there had never been between them the slightest cause for uneasiness.
“She’s a clever one and no mistake,” said Chumbley to himself. “I hope she won’t be stupid enough to begin flirting again. Matters seem to; have settled down now, and it will be a pity for them to become troublesome once more. Wonder where the doctor is? I think I’ll lure him behind the trees, and we’ll have a cigar together. It’s too hot to dance.”
He turned to go, after a final glance at Helen and the Rajah, but found himself face to face with the Inche Maida.
“Ah, giant?” she said, in excellent English, laying her hand upon his arm, and, as it were, taking him into custody. “I heard what you said a little while ago to beautiful Helen Perowne, and I am going to ask you the same question.”
“I say,” thought Chumbley, “this isn’t leap-year, is it?”
“How would you like to give up civilisation and live out here in the wilds?”
Chumbley strolled on with the Princess in the soft light shed by the paper lanterns beneath the spreading palms, between whose mighty pinnate leaves an occasional glimpse of the lustrous starlit sky could be obtained. All around was very beautiful, and through the soft, scent-laden summer air came the strains of music sounding soft and subdued. There was a delicious languor in the breeze that seemed to prison the spirits in a gentle calm; and as Chumbley strolled softly on, he said, slowly:
“Well, I don’t know, Princess; but just now I seem to fancy that it would be just the sort of life that would suit me.”
“And Captain Hilton?” said the Princess, smiling.
“I don’t know about Hilton,” replied Chumbley. “I fancy he’s more ambitious than I am. For my part I should want an elephant, plenty of fishing, plenty of shooting – ”
“Anything else?” said the Princess, who seemed amused at the young man’s cool, easy-going way.
“Well, it’s a regular paradise out here. Very beautiful.”
“Yes, my country is beautiful,” said the Princess.
“Well, if I were to come out to such a place to play Adam, I should want an Eve. You don’t understand that.”
“What savages you think us,” said the Princess, warmly. “I challenge you! I know more of your religion and history than you do about mine.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Chumbley heartily; and the Princess looked angry, but afterwards seemed to enjoy the young man’s genuine mirth.
“Do you English think it good manners to laugh at a Malay lady?” she said reproachfully.
“Laugh? At you?” he said frankly. “My dear Princess, I was laughing at myself. Why, I’m one of the most ignorant fellows under the sun. I know my drill, and how to handle a gun; that’s about all.”
“You depreciate yourself,” said the Princess, in an admonitory tone; “but I do know who were Adam and Eve. You mean that if you lived out here you would want a wife.”
Chumbley nodded.
“Marry Helen Perowne and settle down out here. I would build you a house.”
“Heaven forbid!” said Chumbley, laughing. “No, Princess, I am not one of her slaves. I look at her now as I should at a beautiful picture.”
“You look at a beautiful picture?” replied the Princess, wonderingly. “Oh, yes, I understand now. What? so soon! Well, well, I daresay you are right, Mr Harley,” she said, in reply to a remark made by the Resident.
“Yes, he’s quite right, madam,” said Dr Bolter, who also bustled up. “Dew’s falling fast. We must not have any of my folks down with fever after so pleasant a trip.”
“I always take your advice, doctor,” said the Princess, smiling; “and say it is good.”
“It is a long way back,” said the Resident, smiling.
“Yes, but you have the stream with you,” said the Princess. “Where is the Sultan? There: you shall go. I will not keep you longer than is right, for I want you to come again.”
“After so pleasant a welcome, I’m sure all will be too happy,” said the Resident.
“I shall only be too glad to entertain you,” replied the Princess, “if I am in a position to do so. Who knows? You English refuse to help me; and perhaps by another month I may be poor, and little better than a slave.”
“But with plenty of friends in Sindang,” said the little doctor, warmly. “Here is one.”
“I know it doctor,” she replied, taking his outstretched hand.
“Grey, my child,” whispered Mrs Doctor, who was some distance away, “I’m sure that is a very dreadful woman! It does not take so long as that to shake hands!”
“I think it is only the Princess’s manner,” replied Grey, smiling.
“And very bad manners too,” said the little lady. “Now, where is Arthur?”
“That is he,” said Grey, “following Helen with her cloak.”
“Now, there!” cried the little lady, angrily, “now is my brother Arthur the man to be carrying Helen Perowne’s cloak? Oh, dear me! I do wish we were safe back at home! I don’t like these picnics in savage lands at all!”
“Good-bye, if I don’t have a chance to speak to you again, Mr Chumbley,” said the Princess. “Is not your friend coming to say good-bye? Ah, I see! he is in attendance with your Mr Chaplain upon the beauty.”
“I’d go and say good-night to Madame Inche Maida, Hilton,” whispered Chumbley, the next minute to his friend, and the latter went up and shook hands, thanking the Princess for the pleasant evening they had had, and hoping soon to see her again.
“I thank you,” said the Princess, coldly. “I hope you have enjoyed yourself; but, you are keeping Mr Perowne’s little girl waiting. Good-night.”
That was imagination on the Princess’s part, for Helen was talking to the chaplain, and had her back to them.
“She’s a curious woman,” said Hilton; “and I don’t like her a bit!”
And then, taking advantage of his dismissal, he bowed, and went to where Grey Stuart was talking to Mrs Bolter, as a half-way house to Helen, at whose side he was soon after.
Half an hour later the whole party were safely embarked. The boats were hung with lanterns, the full moon was above the black jungle-trees, and the river looked like molten silver as the oars dipped in regular cadence to the rowers’ song. Then on and on floated the two great nagas; the whole scene, as they glided between the two black banks of trees, being so weirdly beautiful, so novel, and so strange, that it affected all present, though in different ways.
Helen was hot and peevish; Mrs Bolter was petulant and fretting about the doctor stopping so long away; while Grey Stuart felt as if at the smallest provocation she would burst into tears.
“I say, Chum, old fellow,” said Hilton, as they stood outside their quarters in the brilliant moonlight smoking a cigar before turning in for the night, and after a chat about their pleasant passage down to the landing-stage – “I say, Chum, old fellow.”
“Hullo!”
“She doesn’t seem to like me, but not a bad sort of woman that Princess.”
“Not at all. Pity she’s so brown.”
“Yes, rather; but I say, Chum.”
“Hullo!”
“I’ll bet a dollar she squeezed your hand when you were coming away, eh?”
“Never tell tales out of school,” said Chumbley, slowly. “Squeezes of hands leave no impression, so they don’t count. I didn’t ask you if you squeezed Helen Perowne’s hand.”
“I shouldn’t mind if you did, old lad. Perhaps so; but don’t bother, and pass me a match.”
Chumbley chuckled softly to himself; and after a time they finished their cigars and turned in, the lieutenant sleeping soundly, while the rest of the principal personages in this narrative were wakeful and tossing from side to side, perhaps the most restless being the successful beauty, Helen Perowne.
Volume One – Chapter Thirty.
The Return Party
Mr Perowne’s was acknowledged to be by far the best garden at the station; its favourable position – sloping, as it did, down to the river – prevented any approach to aridity, and as he had gone to the expense of getting three Chinese gardeners – men who were ready enough, if not to originate, to take up any suggested idea – the result was a charmingly-picturesque succession of smooth lawns and shady walks, sheltered by the choicest flowering trees the country produced.
He spared no expense to make the garden attractive, and on the night of Helen’s twenty-first birthday, when they gave a garden-party, the place, with its Chinese lanterns and illuminated summer-houses, had an effect that seemed to Grey Stuart the most lovely she had ever seen.
“I quite envy you sometimes,” she said, as Helen, in her calm assurance, kissed her and welcomed her in a patronising way; “surrounded as you are with luxuries, you ought to be very happy.”
“And yet I am not,” said Helen, bitterly, and she turned to meet some fresh arrivals.
“You’ve a deal to grumble about,” said old Stuart, who had heard his daughter’s words. “What’s all this but show and tinsel? What’s it worth? Bah!”
Her father’s words did not comfort her, for she felt very sore; and as she strolled with him down one of the paths she thought to herself that there was an old fable about a dog in a manger, and in her quiet, homely fashion, it seemed to her that Helen was playing that part.
For she had, in her unselfish sorrow, seen that for some little time past Hilton was not happy in his love. Helen was playing with him, and he seemed to feel it bitterly, though he was too proud to show it; and she thought to herself, what would she not give to be able to whisper comfort to the young officer, and pour out for him the riches of her love – an impossibility, for in her way she was as proud as Helen herself.
“Ah, Mr Stuart! How do, Miss Stuart?” drawled a voice just behind them. “Glad to see you both. I say, Miss Stuart, do you want a fellow to play cavalier? I’m quite at liberty. Mr Stuart, there’s plenty of claret-cup, champagne, and cigars in the little pagoda, and it’s nice and cool.”
“It’s like an oven out here,” growled the merchant. “I say, Grey, you don’t want me, do you? Chumbley will take care of you. Come to me when you want to go.”
For answer she placed her hand on the lieutenant’s arm, and he took her round the grounds.
“Looks nice, doesn’t it?” he said. “Seen all the grandees?”
“I have only seen Helen and Mr Perowne,” she replied.
“Looks well to-night, ’pon my word. I saw Murad’s eyes light up like a firefly as he shook hands with her, but he pulled himself to directly. Perowne does these things well. Old boy must be pretty rich.”
“They say he is, very,” replied Grey. “Here is the Rajah coming up. Mr Chumbley, I always feel afraid of that man.”
“Hold tight by my arm, then, and I’ll punch his head if he looks at you. He shan’t run away with you while I am by.”
Grey laughed merrily, and in the midst of her mirth the Rajah came up.
“You English people always seem so bright and merry,” he said, smiling, and looking very handsome as he stood by the side of a lantern. “We people always feel dull and sad.”
“Have a glass of champagne then, Rajah. It is a fine cure for sadness. I say,” continued Chumbley, “you’ll have to imitate this, and give an evening fête.”
“Yes,” he said, eagerly; “I was thinking so. But I would have more lanterns in the trees, and more flowers.”
“To be sure,” said Chumbley. “You’ll invite me?”
“Will you promise me to come?” said the Rajah, holding out his hand.
“I will indeed,” replied Chumbley, grasping it in return.
“And you too, Miss Stuart?”
“You must ask papa,” she said, quietly.
“I will,” said the Rajah, earnestly. “Where is he?”
“Having a cigar in the little pagoda, Rajah,” replied Chumbley; and the Malay Prince nodded and smiled, and went away.
“Here, I say,” said Chumbley, as soon as they were alone. “I’m going to have a quarrel, Miss Stuart. I thought there would have been a chance for me, and that my rejected addresses would be accepted, and now you have behaved like this.”
“What do you mean, Mr Chumbley? If it is an enigma, I cannot guess it; if it is a joke, you must explain it; for I am only a Scottish maiden.”
“Joke? – no,” he said; “I call it no joke. Here you and the Rajah have the effrontery to make up matters before me.”
“I and the Rajah!” cried Grey.
“Yes; you told him to go and ask papa. I heard you.”
“Oh, Mr Chumbley, what a poor joke,” she cried; and then she stopped short, for the handsome face and stately form of the Inche Maida, followed by one attendant, suddenly came upon them from out of a dark side-walk.
“Then I was right,” she said, holding up her finger at both in turn. “You two are lovers.”
“And we always talk about other people,” said Chumbley, as the Princess kissed Grey rather coldly upon the forehead. “Come along with us, and you shall hear.”
His frank, easy manner seemed to chase away the Inche Maida’s coldness, and laying her gloved hand upon the young man’s arm, she pressed it rather more warmly than English etiquette requires, and together they promenaded the grounds, coming twice over upon Hilton, who seemed dull and out of sorts; while Helen was full of vivacity, her eyes sparkling, her words full of bright repartee; and even the Resident, with his rather sardonic humour, seemed to look at her more kindly than usual.
This look seemed to spoil her, for she immediately after began to flirt merrily, first with one and then with another, sending poisoned stabs through Hilton’s breast, and making him gnaw his lip as he darted reproachful glances at her from time to time.
Grey saw a good deal of this as the party gradually drew together to where an al fresco supper was spread upon the lawn, and her sufferings were as acute as those of Hilton.
“She does not care for him in the least,” she said to herself, as she noted Helen’s conduct with a young officer present.
“Miss Stuart, may I take you to a seat? They are going to have supper now.”
Grey started and turned pale. Why had Captain Hilton asked her? she thought. Then her heart answered, – Because Helen was trifling with him.
“I am engaged to Mr Chumbley, I think,” she said, coldly, torturing herself by her words; for she felt as if she would have given worlds to have been seated at his side.
“Perhaps the Princess will allow me to be her escort?” said Hilton, stiffly.
“Yes, I will,” said the Princess, quickly, and she went with him towards the supper-table.
“Well,” said Chumbley, “suppose we go and find places, Miss Stuart; only if I bore you don’t be above telling me.”
She turned her soft grey eyes upon him laughingly —
“I am very much obliged to you,” she said with a smile; “but I fear you will find me very dull company.”
“Well, as I’m dull too, it will be all right.”
The supper was all that could be desired, and very beautiful everything seemed beneath the bright suspended lamps. Flowers, fruit, all that money could provide, were there; and the mingling of English and Eastern customs added to the charm of the banquet beneath the great mellow stars.
The wine sparkled, merry voices chatted; and the doctor’s speech proposing their young hostess’s good health, and many happy returns of the day, was so great a triumph, that Mrs Bolter, who had been looking very cross, and trying in vain to get her husband to her side, began to seem a little better satisfied, especially as, a few minutes after, he came behind her chair and whispered:
“I hope I did not say anything to displease you, my dear.”
Then, as the little band, composed of half a dozen soldiers of the force, began a waltz, the company strolled once more in couples about the grounds; but only to return before long to the front of the house and form one huge group composed of smaller groups, with the conversation in full swing.
