Loe raamatut: «One Maid's Mischief», lehekülg 15

Volume Two – Chapter Five.
A New Phase

The meeting was soon after strengthened by the arrival of Mrs Bolter and the principal ladies of the little community, when before long it became evident that Helen Perowne’s behaviour had made the ladies of one mind.

Their sole idea was that which found vent at last from the lips of Mrs Bolter, who, after a good deal of pressing as to her belief, gave it:

“I am very sorry to express my feelings upon the subject,” she said, “and perhaps I am prejudiced; but I cannot help thinking that Miss Perowne has eloped with Captain Hilton, and Lieutenant Chumbley has gone with them to save appearances.”

“That doesn’t account for Rosebury’s disappearance, my dear,” said the doctor, rather tartly, for he was annoyed at his wife’s decided tone.

“I am sorry to say that Miss Perowne,” continued the lady, “had gained a great deal of influence over my brother, and I daresay he would have acquiesced in anything she wished him to do.”

“I am quite sure you are wronging Helen, and Mr Rosebury as well!” cried Grey Stuart, suddenly. “Mrs Bolter, these words of yours are cruel in the extreme!”

“Maybe, my dear,” said Mrs Bolter, tightening her lips.

“And I am sure,” cried Grey, “that Captain Hilton would never have taken such a step; while Lieutenant Chumbley would have been the first to call it madness!”

“And who made you their champion, miss?” cried old Stuart, sharply.

“I only said what I thought was right, papa,” said Grey, with no little dignity. “I could not stand by and hear Helen accused of so great a lapse of duty without a word in her defence.”

“And I am sure, from her father to the humblest here,” said the Resident, taking Grey’s hand and kissing it, “we all honour you for your sentiments, Miss Stuart. And now, Mrs Bolter,” he continued, turning to the doctor’s wife, “as we have heard your belief, let me ask you, as a sensible woman, whether you think such an assertion can be true.”

“I don’t see why you should take up the cudgels so fiercely on Miss Perowne’s behalf, Mr Harley,” said the little lady, quietly.

“That is beside the question,” he retorted, “and I ask you again, do you think this true?”

“I told you beforehand, Mr Harley,” replied the lady, “that I was no doubt very much prejudiced, and I believe I am; but I am at least frank and plain, and repeat, that after due consideration it does wear that aspect to me.”

“Speak out, Mrs Bolter, please,” said the father. “I will have no reservations.”

“It is a time, Mr Perowne, when I feel bound to speak out, and without reservation. I grieve to say that Miss Perowne’s whole conduct has been such as to lead any thoughtful woman to believe that what I say is true.”

There was a murmur of assent here from the ladies present.

“You are in the minority, Miss Stuart,” said the Resident, gravely, as he turned to Grey, who, pale of face and red-eyed, was now and again casting reproachful glances at the severe-looking little lady, “and I thank you for what you have said.”

“I’m beginning to think myself that the wife is right,” said Dr Bolter. “She tells me she has been making inquiries amongst the Malay women – many of whom we know from their coming up to our house for help. They are very friendly towards us; and if there was anything in the Murad theory they would have known, and let it out. You are wrong, my dear. I’m afraid you are wrong.”

Grey raised her eyes to the doctor’s with quite a fierce look, and she turned red and pale by turns ere she answered, loyally:

“No, I am not wrong. Helen would not have been guilty of such an act. I know her too well. Neither,” she added, in a lower voice, “would Captain Hilton.”

“Brave little partisan,” said the Resident, sadly. “You and I will fight all Helen Perowne’s detractors. As you say,” he cried, raising his voice, and a warm flush showing through his embrowned skin, “it is impossible!”

Mr Perowne had been called from the room before the discussion assumed quite so personal a nature, and now he returned, gazing piteously from one to the other as he was asked whether there was any news.

“This suspense is terrible!” he moaned. “Harley, Bolter, pray do something! My poor child! – my poor child!”

There was a sympathetic silence in the now crowded room, as the occupants waited for one of the gentlemen to speak, Dr Bolter looking at his wife, as if to ask, “What shall I say?” and receiving for response a shake of the head.

“The Rajah must, I am sure,” cried Mr Perowne, “be at the bottom of this terrible affair. Mr Harley!” he cried, passionately, “I can bear this no longer, and I insist – I demand of you, as one of her Majesty’s representatives – that you send troops up to the village at once!”

“I have thought of all this, Mr Perowne,” said the Resident, “but that would be a declaration of war, and I should not feel justified in taking such a step without authority from the Governor.”

“I do not care!” cried the father, frantically. “War or no war, I demand that, instead of waiting in this cold-blooded way, you have the place searched! This outrage must be due to the Rajah!”

There was a low hum of excitement in the room, as all eagerly watched for the Resident’s reply to what seemed to be, but was not – a just demand.

“I would gladly do as you wish, Mr Perowne,” he replied, “the more readily because it is what my heart prompts; but I must have some good grounds – stronger than mere suspicion – before I can do more than ask the aid of Murad, who is, as you know, a friendly Prince. Again, I must ask you to consider my position here, and my stringent instructions to keep on good terms with this Rajah. Recollect, sir, once again, to do what you propose would be interpreted by the Malays as an act of war. I have the whole community to study as well as your feelings, sir – as well,” he added, in a low voice, only heard by Grey Stuart, “as my own.”

“But my child – my child!” groaned Mr Perowne.

“I have done what I could, sir; sent messengers at once to Murad asking his aid, and whether any of his people can give us help.”

“You did not accuse him then?” said Mr Stuart.

“How could I, sir, on suspicion? No, I have done what is best.”

“But it is horrible!” cried Mr Perowne. “The thought of her being in the power of this unprincipled man is more than I can bear.”

“But we do not know, sir, that this is the case, whatever our suspicions may be.”

“I think they are wrong,” cried Mrs Bolter, quickly, “for here comes someone to tell us who is right.”

She pointed through the window as she spoke, and every head was turned to see the Rajah come hurrying up the pathway leading to the house, his steps seeming to partake of the excitement of the whole group, as he dashed up to the door; and as soon as he was admitted he half ran into the midst of the silent assembly, gazing wildly from face to face, till his eyes rested upon Mr Perowne, to whom he ran, threw his arms over his shoulders, and exclaimed with a passionate, half-sobbing cry:

“Tell me – quick! Tell me it is not true!”

Volume Two – Chapter Six.
A Prince’s Anger

The merchant stared in the young Rajah’s convulsed face without speaking, and Murad exclaimed:

“I had heard news, and was coming down. Then came the messengers; but tell me,” he cried, “I cannot bear it! This is not true?”

Mr Perowne gazed fixedly in the dark, lurid eyes before him, as if fascinated by their power, and then said sternly:

“It is quite true, sir; quite true.”

“No, no!” cried the Malay Rajah, excitedly, “not true that she is gone; not true that she cannot be found?”

“Yes, sir,” repeated the merchant again, in a low, troubled voice. “She was taken from us last night.”

The Rajah uttered some words in his own tongue that sounded like a passionate wail, as he staggered back, as if struck heavily, reeled, clutched at the nearest person to save himself, and then fell with a crash upon the floor.

The little party assembled crowded round the prostrate man; but at a word from Dr Bolter they drew back, and he went down on one knee beside the young man to loosen his collar.

“A little more air. Keep back, please!” said the doctor, sharply. “Mary, a glass of water.”

As Mrs Bolter filled a glass from a carafe upon the sideboard, the doctor took a bottle of strong salts offered by one of the ladies present, and held it beneath the young man’s nostrils, but without the slightest effect.

Then the water was handed to the doctor, who liberally used it about the young Prince’s face, as the Resident drew near and gazed upon the prostrate figure, keenly noting the clayey hue of the face and the great drops of dank perspiration that stood upon the brow.

“What is it, doctor?” he whispered.

“Fainting – over-excitement,” replied Dr Bolter. “He’s coming round.”

The fact was beginning to be patent to all, for a change was coming over the young man’s aspect, and he began to mutter impatiently as the drops of water were sprinkled upon his face, opening his eyes at last and gazing about him in a puzzled way, as if he could not comprehend his position.

Then his memory seemed to come back with a flash, and he started up into a sitting position, muttered a few Malay words in a quick, angry manner, sprang to his feet, and then, with his eyes flashing, he snatched his kris from the band of his sarong, showing his teeth and standing defiant, ready to attack some enemy with the flame-shaped blade that was dully gleaming in his hand.

“Come, Rajah,” said the doctor, soothingly, “be calm, my dear sir. You are among friends.”

“Friends!” he cried, hoarsely. “No: enemies! You have let him take her away, I know,” he hissed between his teeth; “but you shall tell me. Who else has gone?”

“Captain Hilton,” said the doctor.

“Yes, I was sure,” hissed the Malay. “He was always there at her side. I was ref – fused; but I cannot sit still and see her stolen away by another, and I will have revenge – I will have revenge!”

The Malay Prince’s aspect told plainly enough that he would have sprung like a wild beast at his enemy’s throat had he been present; and saving Mrs Bolter and Grey, who stood holding her hand, the ladies crowded together, one or two shrieking with alarm as the Resident quietly advanced to the young Malay.

“Put up your weapon, sir,” he said firmly. “We are not savages. Recollect that you are amongst civilised people now.”

The Rajah turned upon him with so fierce and feline a look that Grey Stuart turned paler than she already was, and pressed Mrs Bolter’s hand spasmodically; but Harley did not shrink, he merely fixed the young man as it were with his eyes, before whose steady gaze the sullen, angry glare of the young Prince sank, and he stood as if turned to stone.

“Yes,” he said, in a guttural voice; “you are right;” and slowly replacing his kris in its sheath, he covered the hilt with his silken plaid before standing there with his brows knit, and the veins in his temples standing out as if he were engaged in a heavy struggle to master the savage spirit that had gained the ascendant.

“That is better,” said the Resident, quietly. “Now we can talk like sensible men.”

“Yes,” replied the Rajah; “but it is hard – very hard. It masters me, and I feel that I cannot bear it. You know what I have suffered, and how I fought it down. Mr Harley, Mr Perowne, did I not act like an English gentleman would have done?”

“Yes, yes,” said Mr Perowne, hastily.

“I tried so hard that I might,” he whispered. “I was born a Malay; but I am trying to become more like you. I thought I had mastered everything; but when I hear this news it is too much for me, and – Mr Harley – doctor – give me something to make me calm, or I shall go mad.”

He turned away and stood for a few moments with his back to them, while the party assembled whispered their thoughts till the young man turned once more, and they saw that his face was calm and impassive, as if no furious storm of rage had just been agitating its surface.

“What are you going to do?” he said, in a low, deep voice, gazing from Mr Perowne to the Resident and back again.

“Search, sir, until we have found the lady,” said the latter, quietly.

“I will help,” said the Rajah; whose eyes emitted a flash that told of the rage in his heart.

“Thank you,” said the Resident, quietly.

“You will pursue them?” continued the Rajah. “Tell me, by your laws do you kill this man for what he has done?”

“We do not think there is any need of pursuit, sir,” replied Mr Harley, quietly; “we fear that there has been an accident.”

“I have brought down two nagas, and two smaller boats,” cried the Rajah, eagerly. “There are a hundred of my people waiting. Shall I send them to follow, or will you give them your commands? They are your slaves until this is done.”

The Resident stood thinking for a minute or two, and the Rajah turned from him impatiently.

“We lose time!” he cried, angrily. “Mr Perowne, you do not speak. Tell me – you are her father – what shall I do?”

Mr Perowne held out his hand, which the Rajah seized.

“Thank you, Rajah,” he said simply; “but we must be guided by wisdom in what we do. Mr Harley will speak directly. He is trying to help us. I cannot say more,” he faltered. “I am crushed and helpless under this blow.”

“Tut, mon! don’t give way!” whispered old Stuart, going to his side. “Keep a stout hairt and all will be well.”

A couple of hours of indecision passed away, for the coming of the Rajah had thrown them off the track. They had had one scent to follow, and, however blindly, they were about to attempt it, but were now thrown back upon two other lines – the one being the suggestion of an accident; the other of elopement.

The hot day was wearing on, and the boatmen were returning boat by boat, but without the slightest information, not even a vague suggestion upon which hope could be hung. Still, nothing more had been done – nothing seemed possible under the circumstances; and a general feeling of despondency was gathering over the little community, when a new suspicion dawned in the Resident’s mind, and he blamed himself for not having thought of it before.

The suspicion had but a slight basis, still it was enough; and eager as he was to find something to which he could cling, Neil Harley felt for the moment glad of the mental suggestion, and felt that all idea of some terrible boat accident might be set aside, for at last he had found the clue.

Volume Two – Chapter Seven.
No False Scent

Neil Harley’s new suspicion, one which he was cautious not to mention as yet, was that, in accordance with the Malay character, this revengeful blow had come from one who owed the English community or Government a grudge.

The Rajah had been the first to suffer from suspicion, but his coming had cleared him somewhat in the eyes of his friends; still there was one who might well feel enmity against the English for the part they had played, and this was one who had not been to clear herself from suspicion.

The Inche Maida had come to the Residency island humbly with her petition – a reasonable suppliant for help against her enemies. She had had her request, if not refused, at all events treated with official neglect. It was no wonder, then, that she should feel aggrieved, and, while wearing the mask of friendship, take some steps to obtain mental satisfaction for the slight.

The Resident pondered upon all this, and felt that she must naturally be deeply wounded. She had borne her disappointment with the patience and stoicism of one of her religion; but all the same she might have been waiting for an opportunity to strike.

“Allah’s will be done!” she had said at their last interview, when the Resident had made a further communication from Government; and she had bent her head and sighed deeply as she turned to go away, but only to return, shake hands with Mr Harley, and thank him.

“You are a good man, Mr Harley,” she had said, “and I know you would have helped me if you could.”

“Yes, she has been most friendly ever since,” he mused, “and her behaviour last night at the party was all that could have been desired.”

Still, he argued, she was a Malay, and all this might have been to serve as a blind to her future acts. She must feel very bitter, and, with all an Eastern’s cunning, she must have been nursing up her wrath till an opportunity occurred for revenge.

This, perhaps, would be that revenge.

“No,” he said, “it was childish;” and he felt directly after that he was maligning a really amiable woman.

He ended by thinking that he could judge her by her acts. If she were innocent of all complicity in the abduction of Helen – if abduction it was – she would come and display her sympathy to her English friends in this time of trouble.

“What do you think, Miss Stuart?” he said, leading her into the opening of a window. “The Inche Maida has cause of complaint against us. Do you think she has had anything to do with getting Helen away?”

“No, I’m certain she has not,” cried Grey, flushing warmly. “She is too good and true a woman.”

“Do you think she likes Helen?” asked the Resident.

“No, I think she dislikes her,” replied Grey; “but she could not be guilty of such a crime as you suggest.”

“I am suspicious,” said the Resident. “Why does she stay away? She must have heard something by this time. Did you see her very late last night?”

“Yes, till very late – till after the disappearance. She was wondering where Helen had gone.”

“Yes,” said the Resident, “that is all in her favour, my dear child; but still she stops away.”

“No,” said Grey, quietly, “she is not staying away. See: here she comes, with her servants. I think she has arrived to offer her services in this time of trouble.”

Grey Stuart was right, for directly after the Malay princess entered the large drawing-room, eager with her offers of help, as her English friend had said.

“I did not know till a messenger came in,” she exclaimed, excitedly. “I was home late, and I was asleep. When I heard of the trouble at the station, I came and brought my servants. What shall I do?”

She was most affectionate and full of pity for Mr Perowne. To the Resident she was friendly in the extreme, and in a frank, genial way, utterly free from effusiveness; while to Grey Stuart she was tenderness itself, kissing her and talking to her in a low voice of the trouble, and keeping her all the time at her side.

“Henry,” said little Mrs Bolter, suddenly.

“Yes, my dear.”

“I don’t trust these black people a bit. They are very friendly and full of offers of service, but I cannot help thinking that they are at the bottom of all this trouble. Do you hear?”

“Yes, my dear, I hear,” said the doctor; “but I cannot say that you are right. It’s as puzzling as the real site of Ophir; but I hope it will all come right in the end.”

Suspicious as Mrs Bolter felt, she did not show her feelings, but joined in the conversation; and she was obliged to own that the conduct of the Inche Maida seemed to be quite that of an English lady eager to help her friends in a terrible time of trial.

In the midst of the conversation that ensued there was the sound of voices outside, and the Resident, closely followed by Mr Perowne and the Rajah, hurried out to see if there was any news.

One of the sergeants, with a private of Hilton’s company, had just arrived on the lawn, these being two of the men who had gone down the river in a sampan.

“Ah! Harris,” exclaimed the Resident, eagerly, on seeing something in the sergeant’s face which told of tidings, “what news?”

The sergeant glanced at Mr Perowne in rather a troubled manner, and hesitated.

“Speak out, my man, for Heaven’s sake!” exclaimed the latter, “and let me know the worst.”

“It mayn’t be the worst, sir,” replied the sergeant, with rough sympathy. “I hope it isn’t, sir; but we found a boat, sir – one of our own boats – left by the ‘Penguin’ for our use at the island.”

“Yes – yes, I know!” exclaimed Mr Perowne.

“Quick! speak out, Harris. What of her?” cried the Resident.

“She was lying bottom up, sir, on a bit of sandbank, a dozen miles down the river, sir; and this was twisted round one of the thwarts – the sleeve just tied round, sir, to keep it in its place.”

As he spoke he held up a light coat, saturated with water, and muddy and crumpled, where it had dried on the way back.

Neil Harley took the coat and examined it carefully. Then laying it down, he said, slowly:

“It looks like Chumbley’s; but I cannot feel sure.”

“I made sure it was one of the lieutenant’s coats, sir,” said the sergeant, respectfully.

“Let us see the boat,” said Mr Perowne. “Where is it?”

“Down at your landing-stage, sir, and – ”

He stopped short, as if afraid he should say too much.

“What is it, Harris? Speak out,” said the Resident, sternly.

“She seems to have been laid hold of, sir, by one of them great river beasts. There’s a lot of teeth marks, and a bit ripped out of her side.”

Mr Perowne shuddered, and Neil Harley recalled the various stories he had heard of crocodiles attacking small boats – stories that he had heretofore looked upon as mythical, though he knew that the reptiles often seized the natives when bathing by the river bank.

“As far as I could judge, sir,” said the sergeant, who, seeing that he gave no offence in speaking out, was most eager to tell all he knew, “it seems as if the officers, sir, had taken the ladies for a row upon the river, when the boat perhaps touched one of the great beasts, and that made it turn and seize it in its teeth. Then it was overset, and – ”

The men started and stopped short, for there was a faint cry of horror, and they all turned to see Grey Stuart standing there pale, with her lips apart, and a look of horror in her fixed eyes, as she saw in imagination the overturned boat, and the vain struggles of those who were being swept away by the rapid stream.

The whole scene rose before her eyes with horrible substantiality – all that she had heard or been told of the habits of the great reptiles that swarmed in the river helping to complete the picture. For as she seemed to realise the scene, and saw the struggling figures in the water, there would be a rush and a swirl, with a momentary sight of a dark horny back or side, and then first one and then another of the hapless party would be snatched beneath the surface.

But even then her horror seemed to be veined with a curious sensation of jealous pain, for she pictured to herself Helen floating down the stream with her white hands extended for help, and Hilton fighting his way through the water to her side. Then he seemed to seize her, and to make a brave struggle to keep her up. It was a hard fight, and he did not spare himself, but appeared to be ready to drown that she might live. The water looked blacker and darker where they were, and there was no help at hand, so that it was but a question of moments before they must sink. And as, with dilated, horror-charged eyes, Grey stared before her to where the river really ran sparkling in the sunshine, the imaginary blackness deepened, and all looked so smooth and terrible that she watched for where that dreadful glassiness would be broken by some reptile rising to make a rush at the struggling pair; and – yes, there at last it was! And with the name of Hilton half-formed upon her lips, she uttered another cry, and fell fainting in the Inche’s Maida’s arms.