One Maid's Mischief Part 23

These thoughts ran through the brains of each of the spectators of the little scene within the drawing-room in turn, but only one of the dinner-party spoke aloud, and that was in a low voice in another's ear.

It was the little Scotchman, Grey Stuart's father, who spoke, as he laid his hand upon his host's shoulder.

"Perowne, mahn," he whispered, "ye'll have a care there, and speak to your la.s.s, for there'll be the deil's own mischief, and murder too, if she leads that fellow on."

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

HELEN PEROWNE AT HOME.

Sultan Murad, who, from the aspect of affairs in Mr Perowne's drawing-room, seemed to be the last captive to the bow of Helen's lips and the arrows of her eyes, was one of the rajahs of the Malay peninsula, living upon friendly terms with the English, paying allegiance to the government, and accepting the friendly services of a Political Resident, in the shape of Mr Harley, whose duties were to advise him in his rule, to help him in any plans for civilising and opening out his country; and in exchange for his alliance and friendly offices with neighbouring chiefs, who viewed the coming of the English with jealous eyes, the rajah was promised the help of the English arms in time of need. As an earnest of this promise, a couple of companies of an English foot regiment were permanently stationed upon a little island in the river, just opposite to Sindang, the princ.i.p.al native town of Jullah, over which territory Sultan Murad reigned.

But the Prince only adopted such of the English customs as suited his tastes. He had no objection, though a follower of Mahomet, to the wines that were introduced, showing a great preference for champagne. Our dress he took to at once, making a point of always appearing in indigo-blue silk stockings and patent-leather shoes. The widest-fronted shirts were spread over his broad breast, and the tail-coat found so much favour that he had to exercise a good deal of self-denial to keep himself from appearing all day long in full evening-dress.

But he had good advisers to help his natural shrewdness, and finding that his adoption of our costume found favour with his English allies, he adhered to it rigorously, as far as his position as sultan or rajah would allow. For there was and is one part of the native dress that no Malay will set aside, and that is the sarong, a tartan scarf sewn together at the ends and worn in folds around the body, so as to form a kilt.

This article of dress, always a check or plaid of some showy-coloured pattern, is worn by every Malay, in silk or cotton, according to his station, and in the sash-like folds he always carries his kris, a dangerous-looking dagger, that falsely bears the reputation of being smeared along its wavy blade with poison.

A silken kilt and a dagger are rather _outre_ objects for an English drawing-room, and looked barbaric and strange as worn by the young rajah, whose evening-dress was otherwise in faultless English style, being in fact the production of a certain tailor, of Savile Row, an artist who had been largely patronised by Murad for shooting and morning gear, and also for his especial pride, a couple of gorgeous uniforms, something between that of a hussar and a field-marshal bound to a review.

The bad name given to a dog dies hard, and in spite of steam and electricity, the idea still lingers in our midst that the Malay is as evil as his kris, and that he is a brutal savage, accustomed to put forth from his campong in a long row-boat, or prahu, to make a piratical attack upon some becalmed vessel. After this it is supposed to be his custom to put the crew to death, plunder the ship, and set it on fire as a finish to his task.

Such deeds have been done, for there are roughs amongst the Malays, even as there are in civilised England. In bygone days, too, such acts were doubtless as common as among our border chieftains; but, as a rule, the Malays are an educated body of eastern people, professing the Mahommedan religion, with an excellent code of laws, punctilious in etiquette, and though exceedingly simple in their habits, far from wanting in refinement.

Sultan Murad was unmistakably a prince, handsome in person, and naturally of a grave and dignified mien, while since his alliance with the English he had become so thoroughly imbued with our habits and the ordinary ways of a gentleman as to make him a visitor well worthy of Helen's attention for the time.

There was something delightful to her vanity in the eastern term "sultan," a t.i.tle a.s.sociated in her mind with barbaric splendour, showers of diamonds and pearls, cloth of gold, elephants with silver howdahs, attended by troops of slaves bearing peac.o.c.k fans, chowries, and palm-leaf punkahs. She saw herself in imagination mounted upon some monstrous beast, with a veil of gossamer texture covering her face; a troop of beautiful slaves in attendance, and guards with flashing weapons jealously watching on every side the approach of those who would dare to sun themselves in her beauty.

Her thoughts were so pleasant, that in place of the languid air of repose in her dark, shaded eyes, they would flash out as she listened with a gratified smile to Murad's eastern compliments and the soft deference in his voice.

He was a real sultan, who, when with the English, adopted their customs; while with his people no doubt he would a.s.sume his barbaric splendour; and to Helen, fresh as it were from school, and, revelling in the joys of her new-born power, there was something delicious in finding that she had a real eastern potentate among her slaves.

The Rajah had been talking to her in his soft, pleasant English for some time before the gentlemen left the dining-room. Now Neil Harley separated himself from the rest, sauntered across, nodded to the Rajah, who drew back, and made a flash dart from the young Malay's eyes as he saw the Resident seat himself in a careless, quite-at-home fashion beside the young hostess.

"Well, Mad'moiselle Helen," he whispered in a half-contemptuous tone, "how many more conquests this week?"

"I do not understand you, Mr Harley," she said, coldly; but he noticed that she could hardly manage to contain the annoyance she felt at his cavalier manner.

"Don't you?" he said, smiling and half closing his eyes. "As you please, most chilling and proud of beauties. What lucky men those are who find themselves allowed to bask in the sunshine of your smiles!

There, that is the proper, youthful way of expressing it poetically, is it not?"

"If you wish to insult me, pray say so, Mr Harley, and I will at once leave the room," said Helen, in a low voice, as if wishful that the Rajah should not hear her words, but making the Malay's countenance lower as he saw the familiar way in which she was addressed.

"Insult you? All the saints and good people past and to come forbid!

It is you who, after making me your slave, turn from me, the elderly beau, to listen to the voice of our dusky charmer. I don't mind. I am going to chat and listen to little Grey Stuart. I shall be patient, because I know that some day you will return to me cloyed with conquests, and say, 'Neil Harley, I am yours!'"

"I do not understand you," she cried, quickly.

"Let me be explicit then," he said, mockingly. "Some day the fair Helen will come to me and say, with her pretty hands joined together, 'Neil Harley, I am tired of slaying men. I have been very wicked, and cruel, and coquettish. I have wounded our chaplain; I have slain red-coated officers; I have trampled a Malayan sultan beneath my feet; but I know that you have loved me through it all. Forgive me and take me; I am humble now--I am yours!'"

"Mr Harley!" she exclaimed, indignantly. "How dare you speak to me like this in my father's house."

As she spoke her eyes seemed to flash with anger, and he ought to have quailed before her; but he met her gaze with a calm, mastering look, and said slowly:

"Yes, you are very beautiful, and I do not wonder at your triumph in your power; but it is not love, Helen, and some day you will, as I tell you, be weary of all this adulation, and think of what I have said. I am in no hurry; and of course all this will be when you have had your reign as the most beautiful coquette in the East."

"Mr Harley, if you were not my father's old friend--"

"Exactly, my dear child; old friend, who has your father's wishes for my success with his daughter--old friend, who has known you by report since a child. I have been waiting for you, my dear, and you see I behave with all the familiarity accorded to a man of middle age."

"Mr Harley, your words are insufferable!" said Helen, still in a low voice.

"You think so now, my dear child. But there: I have done. Don't look so cross and indignant, or our friend the Rajah will be using his kris upon me as I go home. I can see his hand playing with it now, although he has it enveloped in the folds of his silken sarong in token of peace."

"I beg you will go," said Helen, contemptuously; "you are keeping the Rajah away."

"Which would be a pity," said the Resident, smiling. "He is a very handsome fellow, our friend Murad."

"I have hardly heeded his looks," said Helen, weakly; and then she flushed crimson as she saw Mr Harley's mocking smile.

"Doosid strange, those fellows can't come into a gentleman's drawing-room without their skewers," said Chumbley, coming up and overhearing the last words. "I say, Miss Perowne, you ought to have stayed and heard the doctor give us a lecture on Ophir and Solomon's ships. Capital, wasn't it, Hilton?"

"Really I hardly heard it," replied the young officer, approaching Helen with a smile; and the Resident met the lady's eye, and gave her a mocking look, as he rose and made place for the new-comer, who was welcomed warmly. "I was thinking about our hostess, and wondering how long it would be before we were to be emanc.i.p.ated from old customs and allowed to enter the drawing-room."

"Yes, it is strange how we English cling to our customs, and bring them out even to such places as this," said the lady, letting her eyes rest softly upon those of the young officer, and there allowing them to stop; but giving a quick glance the next moment at the Rajah, who, with a fixed smile upon his face, was sending lowering looks from one to the other of those who seemed to have ousted him and monopolised the lady's attention.

"I never felt our customs so tedious as they were to-night," said Captain Hilton, earnestly; and bending down, he began to talk in a subdued voice, while the gentlemen proceeded to discuss mercantile matters, the probability of the neighbouring Malay princess--the Inche Maida--taking to herself a lord; the latest move made by the governor; and other matters more or less interesting to the younger men.

At last Chumbley, seeing that Harley was chatting with Grey Stuart, crossed over to the doctor's little lady, who had rather a troubled, uneasy look in her pleasant face as she watched her brother, the chaplain, hanging about as if to catch a word let drop by Helen now and then.

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER NINETEEN.

SIGNS OF THE TIMES.

"Well, Mrs Bolter," drawled Chumbley, "who's going to carry off the prize?"

"What prize?" cried the little lady, sharply.

"The fair Helen," said the young man, with a smile.

"You, I should say," said Mrs Bolter, with more asperity in her tone.

"Chaff!" said Chumbley; and he went on, slowly, "Won't do, Mrs Doctor; I'm too slow for her. She had me in silken strings for a week like a pet poodle; but I soon got tired and jealous of seeing her pet other puppies instead of me, and I was not allowed to bite them, so--"

"Well?" said the doctor's wife, for he had stopped.