Grey Stuart's exclamatory question was drawn from her as she, like the
Resident, watched the way in which the Princess continued to receive her
guests.
Grey, in obedience to the Inche Maida's request, and remained with the
Resident close by, where they had an excellent view of what was taking
place, and as, rather flattered by her reception, Grey looked on, a pang
shot through her breast, as she saw that almost the next couple to
advance were Captain Hilton and Helen Perowne, the former looking
flushed and happy as he walked proudly forward with his handsome
companion upon his arm; the latter with her red lip slightly curled and
her eyelashes half shading her large eyes, as she seemed to be
superciliously, and with a contemptuous air, smiling at the people she
looked upon as far beneath her and hardly worthy of her consideration.
As the Princess saw them approach--the most goodly couple of the
company--her eyes seemed to dart a furious flash at Hilton, and then to
become fixed and hard as her features, as she encountered the
supercilious gaze of Helen Perowne.
For a brief space she paused, as if too angry to continue her task. The
pause was but momentary: for, apparently making an effort over herself,
she received Helen Perowne with a grave, almost majestic courtesy,
taking a bouquet from an attendant and handing it to her with a slight
inclination of the head; while Helen Perowne made her the deportment
curtsey that she had been taught at the Miss Twettenhams', throwing into
it the dignity of a queen.
"Enemies!" said the Resident to himself. "Strange how women read each
other's thoughts!" The Princess darted a quick, reproachful glance at
Hilton, and then the couple passed to the other side of the hostess as
others advanced, and the Resident made his comment upon the Princess,
while Grey Stuart exclaimed, in an eager whisper: "Oh! Mr Harley, what
does all this mean?"
"Another diplomatic complication apparently, my dear child," he said.
"Why, you and I ought to be very happy and contented to feel that we are
not of an inflammable nature and are heart-whole."
"But, Mr Harley," said Grey Stuart, colouring slightly, "I do not
understand it."
"And you will not give me time to explain," he said laughingly.
"Perhaps I am wrong, but it seems to me that just as we have comfortably
got over the little piece of incendiarism done upon the Rajah Murad's
heart by the lightning of Helen Perowne's eyes, the Inche Maida has
singed her tawny wings in the light of the handsome brown optics of
Master Hilton."
"Oh! but, Mr Harley," said the girl, hoarsely, "you don't think that--"
"She has taken a fancy to him?" said the Resident, quickly. "Indeed, my
dear, but I do."
"I--I did not mean that," faltered Grey. "I meant, do you think--he had
trifled with the Princess?"
"No, certainly not," said the Resident, sternly, and his voice was very
cold and grave as he spoke; "but I do see one thing, and that is, that
it is an utter mistake to have a pack of handsome young officers and
good-looking girls about the station. It makes my duties twice as
hard," he continued firmly, "for we have no secret instructions, no
Colonial Office despatches that deal with the unions of the sexes; and
if this sort of thing is going on, I shall have to ask the Government to
send me out an assistant-resident well schooled in affairs of the
heart."
He smiled grimly now, and there was a faint reflection of his smile in
Grey Stuart's face as she looked up at him rather piteously, as if to
see whether he was in earnest or in jest.
Further private remark was stopped by the Princess greeting her last
guests, and then turning to lead the way towards what was literally her
palm-tree palace in the jungle.
"You will stay with me, will you not?" she said, laying her hand
affectionately upon Grey Stuart's arm; and she smiled down at the fair
Scottish girl, who looked up at her in a half-doubting fashion; but
dreading to show her feelings she took the offered hand, and the
Princess led the way, the Rajah following with Mrs Bolter, and the
others bringing up the rear. They passed through quite an arcade cut in
the wood, whose rich growth of wondrous canes and creepers was rapidly
encroaching upon the narrow space, and sending out long waving strands
as if in greeting to others upon the opposite side.
At interval were openings where the green twilight was brightened by
patches of sunshine; and here amidst the rich green mosses sprang up
patches of many-tinted pitcher plants, while on the trunks of the huge
forest trees clustered orchids of wondrous shape and hue. Bight and
left was the jungle, dense and utterly impenetrable, except by cutting a
way through; and as they passed along this shady tunnel, the greens of
some of the lower shrubs seemed to be of a velvety blackness that had a
charming effect.
At last a patch of bright sunshine could be seen, showing the end of the
woodland arcade, and beyond this, framed, as it were, the Inche Maida's
home, with its high-pitched gabled roofs, chequered walls, woven
windows, and palm-tree thatch, stood out bright and clear.
As they drew nearer they found that the house was placed on the farther
side of a large lake that was literally ablaze with the crimson and
golden blossoms of a kind of lotus, while its shores were fringed with
an arrowy, gorgeously-spotted calladium, the surface of whose leaves
seemed burnished and silvered in the sun.
"I say, doctor," said Chumbley, suddenly, "it doesn't seem such a very
bad place for a picnic; and if they do mean mischief I hope it will not
be till after we have had a good feed."
"Hungry?" said the doctor.
"Atrociously! I could eat the Inche Maida herself."
"She looked to me as if she could eat you," said the doctor. "I say,
though, Chumbley, that was all nonsense of yours; the Rajah's as square
as a cube. Not half a bad fellow; says he's coming to consult me about
some of his symptoms, and is going to get me to put him right. Precious
stupid of you to put such an idea in a fellow's head."
"Pitch it out, then," said the lieutenant, coolly.
"I've done it, my boy. I say, Chumbley, I'm like you, precious hungry,
too. Look out for the sambals, my boy, and the curry. You'll get them
all in delicious trim, I'll be bound. They say the Inche Maida keeps a
capital cook, and I think it was a splendid idea to bring us here. The
dinner will be ten times better than in a boat or on the shore. I say,
my dear boy, what a tip-top place! Why, if I were a bachelor, I
wouldn't mind marrying the Inche Maida myself, and succeeding to all her
estates."
"It really is a charming place," said Chumbley, thoughtfully. "A man
might make himself very jolly here. There's plenty of fishing, and
shooting, and--"
"He could learn to chew betel, and smoke opium, and settle down into an
Eastern dreamer."
"Oh, I don't know," said Chumbley, quietly. "He might make himself a
sort of example to the people, and do a deal of good."
"Yes," said the doctor drily, "or let them do him a lot of harm. Hallo!
where are the ladies going?"
"Oh, up to the rooms, I suppose," said Chumbley. "I expect the Princess
does things in style. I wouldn't bet a sovereign that she has not got a
regular dining-room and drawing-room with a Broadwood piano."
"I don't care a dump what she has got so long as she has a good cellar
and a good kitchen," replied the doctor, "for I'm ravenous."
"Gentlemen," said the Rajah, coming forward, "the Princess begs me to
act as host. Will you come indoors until the dinner is ready to be
served?"
"There, doctor," whispered Chumbley, "I told you so;" and they followed
the smiling Rajah into the drawing-room of the Inche Maida's house--a
large roomy apartment, kept cool by mat-covered windows, and whose
polished bamboo floor would have delighted a modern aesthete.
The place was a strange compound of Malay and European customs, showy
articles of French furniture being mixed up with the mats and hangings
made by the natives; but everywhere there were traces of the Princess
possessing an ample income to enable her to indulge in any little whims
or fancies in the way of decorative art.
But the group of gentlemen had hardly had time to look round before the
Inche Maida appeared with her lady guests, and not being accustomed to
the etiquette of modern society, led the way to a lofty room, in the
middle of which, upon English table linen, was spread such a repast as
would have satisfied the most exacting; and about this the party took
their seats upon the soft mats in the best way they could, for there was
neither chair nor table.
Still it was a picnic party, so everyone was, or professed to be,
satisfied.
The Princess made a place beside her for Grey Stuart, and Captain Hilton
had paused with Helen Perowne right at the other end of the room. For a
moment or two, with rather lowering looks, the hostess seemed disposed
to acquiesce in this, but a sudden flush animated her face, and she sent
one of her slaves to request that the couple would come up higher,
making room for Hilton by her side on the right--Helen being again on
Hilton's right.
For a few minutes the repast was eaten in silence, but the doctor, who
was in excellent spirits, started the conversation, and the next moment
there was a regular buzz mingled with laughter; for the Princess threw
off all appearance of annoyance, and with the Rajah, devoted herself
eagerly to the comforts of her guests.
It was a novel and piquant affair; the pale, dim light of the
palm-thatched room, with its waving cocoa-trees seen through the open
windows; the comparative coolness after the walk through the jungle, and
above all the quaint mingling of culture and half-savage life made the
visitors delighted with the scene.
Then, too, the repast was unexceptionable. The very poorest Malays are
clever cooks, and have excellent ideas upon the best ways of preparing a
chicken; while the slaves of the Princess had placed such delicious
curries and other Eastern dishes before the hungry visitors, that one
and all fell to without giving further thought as to the strange kitchen
in which everything had been prepared.
Delicious sweets and confections, cool acid drinks, evidently prepared
from fresh fruits, with an abundance of palm and European wines were
there; and the fruits alone would have been a sufficient attraction for
the guests.
Durians, those strange productions of the fruit-world, that on being
opened reveal to the eater so many chestnut-like seeds lying in a
cream-like pulp--the said pulp tasting of sweet almonds, well-made
custard, sherry, cheese, old shoes, sugar and garlic formed into one
delicious whole.
Mangosteens, with their glorious nectarine aroma, and plantains or
bananas of the choicest flavoured kinds; these, mingled with other
fruits luscious and sweet to a degree, but whose names were unknown to
the guests, formed a dessert beyond compare.
Chumbley, seeing that a good deal of the Resident's attention was taken
up elsewhere, divided his time between talking to Grey Stuart and
watching the Malay Princess, upon whose countenance not a shade of her
former annoyance remained.
Every now and then, as her eyes wandered about, she caught Chumbley's
glance as he watched her, and she always met it with a frank, open
smile, and begged his acceptance of fruit or wine.
At the same time, she was constant in her attentions to Hilton and Helen
Perowne, selecting choice fruits for them with her own hands, and
pressing them to eat.
"Well, Miss Stuart, is not this a novelty?" said Chumbley at last.
"What do you think of it all?"
Grey Stuart, who had been making a brave effort to appear bright and
free from care, replied that it was all very delightful and strange.
"It seems so different from anything I have ever seen before!" she said,
with animation.
"Beats a lawn party and tennis in the old country hollow!" said
Chumbley. "What a capital hostess the Princess is!"
"She seems to take so much kindly interest in--in--" said Grey.
"In you, you mean," said the great fellow, smiling.
"Oh, no," said Grey, naively, "I think it was in you."
"Well, I don't know," replied Chumbley, thoughtfully; "she has been very
attentive and kind certainly, but then she has been far more so to
Hilton and Miss Perowne. Why I saw her peel an orange for old Hilton
with her own fair--I mean dark--fingers."
"I suppose it is the Malayan way of showing courtesy to a guest," said
Grey, in an absent tone of voice, as her eyes were wandering from
Captain Hilton to Helen Perowne and back; and then, in spite of herself,
she sighed gently, a fact that did not pass unnoticed by Chumbley, who
made of it a mental note.
Meanwhile, the half-savage banquet went on with fresh surprises from
time to time for the guests, who were astonished at the extent to which
the Malay Princess had adopted the best of our English customs.
Perhaps the most critical of all was Mrs Bolter, who did not scruple
about making whispered remarks to her brother about the various
delicacies spread around.
"If Henry does not come soon, Arthur," she whispered, "I shall send you
to fetch him. By the way, those sweets are very nicely made. Taste
them."
"Thank you, dear Mary, no," he said, quietly, as he turned an untasted
fruit round and round in his long, thin fingers.
"Arthur, how can you be so absurd?" whispered his sister. "The people
will be noticing you directly."
"What have I done, my dear Mary?" he replied, looking quite aghast.
"Nothing but stare at Helen Perowne," she said, in a low angry voice.
"Surely you don't want her to flirt with you!"
"Hush, Mary!" he said gravely. "Your words give me pain."
"And your glances at that proud, handsome, heartless creature give me
pain, Arthur," she replied, in the same tone. "I cannot bear it."
The Reverend Arthur sighed, let his eyes rest upon his fruit, raised
them again, and found himself in time to arrest an arrow-like glance
from Helen's eyes sent the whole length of the table, and he closed his
own and shuddered as if the look had given him a pang.
"I cannot get Henry to look at me," whispered Mrs Bolter after a time.
"He seems quite guilty about something, and ashamed to meet my eye.
Arthur, I am sure he is drinking more wine than is good for his health."
"Oh, no, my dear Mary," replied her brother. "Surely Henry Bolter knows
how to take care of his constitution."
"I don't know that," said the little lady, with asperity, "and he keeps
talking to the Princess more than I like."
She telegraphed to the little doctor with her eyes, but in vain; he
evaded summons after summons, and Mrs Bolter began to grow wroth.
Suddenly she saw him give a bit of a start, and he seemed to be watching
the slaves, who were carrying round trays of little china cups full of
some native wine.
Chumbley saw it too, and for a moment he felt excited, but directly
after he laughed it off.
"The doctor thinks that the Borgia dose is going round," he said to
himself, but half aloud, and Grey caught a portion of his words and
turned pale.
"Borgia?" she faltered, turning to him. "Do you mean poison?"
"Did you hear my words?" he said, quickly. "Oh, it was only nonsense."
"But you think there is poison in those little cups, Mr Chumbley?
Quick! stop him!" she gasped, with an agonised look. "Mr Hilton is
going to drink. Too late! too late!"
"Hush, Miss Stuart, be calm," whispered Chumbley; "you will draw
attention to yourself. I tell you it is all nonsense: a foolish fancy.
Here is a tray," he continued, as a slave came up. "Now see, I will
drink one of these cupfuls to convince you."
"And I will drink too!" she cried, excitedly; and Chumbley stared to see
so much fire in one whom he had looked upon as being tame and quiet to a
degree.
"No; don't you drink," he said, in a low voice.
"Then you do believe there is danger?" she said, excitedly.
"I do and I do not," he replied, in the same low tone. "There," he
said, tossing off the contents of the cup, which was filled with a
delicious liqueur, "I don't think so now; but I would not drink if I
were you."
As the words left his lips, Grey Stuart raised the little cup to her
mouth, slowly drained it, and set it down.
Chumbley's brow contracted, but he could not help admiring the girl's
firmness.
"Do you like my wine?" said a voice then, and the lieutenant started on
finding that the Princess had been narrowly watching them.
"Yes, it is delicious," he said, smiling.
"I drink to you, as you English do," she said, taking a cup from the
same tray as that which had borne those of Chumbley and Grey Stuart. "I
drink to your health--you two," she said again, and she seemed to drain
the cup. "Do you not think it good?" she said, in a low voice, and with
a singularly impressive smile. "Surely you do not think I would give
poison to my friends."