One Maid's Mischief

“We must have a thorough daylight search,” said Mr Harley. “Then the boatmen must all be examined. It hardly appears probable, but Hilton and Chumbley may have proposed a water trip. It seems to us now, cool and thoughtful, a mad proposal, but still it is possible.”

“Yes, and Helen would not go without my brother to take care of her,” said Mrs Bolter, triumphantly, for she had been longing for some explanation of her brother’s absence, and this was the first that offered.

“Oh, no, Mary,” said the doctor, crushing her hopes as he shook his head.

“No, Mrs Bolter,” said the Resident, slowly; and he seemed to be speaking and thinking deeply the while. “I am sure Miss Perowne could not be guilty of so imprudent an act.”

“No,” said her father, speaking now more boldly and without reserve. “You are right, Harley. Helen loves admiration, but she would not have compromised herself in such a way, neither would Mr Rosebury have given such an act his countenance.”

The Resident raised his head as if to speak, and then remained silent.

“What are you thinking, Harley,” said the doctor.

“Yes, pray speak out,” cried Mrs Bolter. “I am sure we are all only too anxious to find some comfort.”

“I was thinking of what could have happened to them, for depend upon it they are all together.”

“Yes,” said Mr Perowne; “but you were thinking more than that.”

“I must think,” said the Resident. “I cannot say anything definite now.”

“Then I know what it is,” cried Mrs Bolter.

“Will you kindly speak out, madam?” said the old merchant, harshly.

“I should be sorry to accuse falsely,” said Mrs Bolter, excitedly; “but I was warned of this, and I can’t help thinking that someone else is at the bottom of this night’s work.”

“And who’s that?” said the doctor, quickly.

Mrs Bolter was silent.

“Rajah Murad, you mean,” said the doctor, quickly; “and he has been waiting his time.”

“And now strikes at us like a serpent in the dark!” cried Mr Perowne, angrily. “It is the Malay character all over. Heaven help me! My poor girl!”

Volume Two – Chapter Four.

Mrs Barlow

Mr Perowne’s house was literally besieged the next morning, for the news of the disappearance ran through the little community like wildfire. British and native communities were equally excited; and after snatching an hour’s rest at the imperative command of his wife, the doctor was hastily swallowing some breakfast previous to going back to Mr Perowne’s, but could hardly get on for interruptions.

“I am not alarmed, Henry,” said the little lady, in a quiet, decided way; “and I insist upon your being properly fortified before unduly exerting yourself. I could not bear for you to be ill.”

The words were said very quietly, but in such a tone that Dr Bolter set down his cup, and rising, left his place, and tenderly embraced the earnest little woman he had made his wife.

“I will take all the care I can, my dear Mary,” he said.

“I know you will, Henry,” said the little lady, whose lip quivered slightly as she spoke; “but now go and finish your breakfast, and then start. Don’t be uneasy about me, dear, but go and do what you think best under the circumstances.”

“I will, my love – I will,” said Dr Bolter, with his mouth full of toast.

“It all sounds very alarming, dear, but I cannot help thinking that it will be explained in a very simple manner.”

“I hope so.”

“You see there are four of them; and as Arthur is one, I think we may feel assured.”

“Well, my dear these are business times,” said the doctor, “and we must speak in business ways. Arthur is the best old fellow in the world; but I am sorry to say that he is a terrible old woman.”

“Henry!” said the lady, reproachfully.

“Well, my dear, he is. Now, would you have much confidence in him if it were a case of emergency?”

“I – I think I would sooner trust to you, Henry,” said the little lady, softly; “but do make haste and get a good breakfast. If you want me, send a message, and I will come directly.”

“All right,” said the doctor, rising once more. “Now I’m off.”

“But one moment, Henry,” said the little lady, whose feelings now got the upper hand. “Tell me, dear – do you think anything dreadful has happened?”

“What do you call dreadful, my dear?” said the doctor, cheerily.

“That the crocodiles – ”

She did not finish, but looked imploringly at her lord.

“Bah! – stuff! – nonsense! No, Mary, I don’t.”

“Then that this dreadful Rajah has carried them off?”

“If it had only been Madam Helen, I should have felt suspicious; but what could he want with Hilton and Chumbley, or with our Arthur?”

“To marry them,” suggested Mrs Bolter.

“Stuff! my dear, not he. If Murad had carried her off, he would not have bothered about a parson.”

“But Arthur was waiting about her all the evening.”

“So he was, my dear.”

“And he may have killed Hilton and poor Mr Chumbley, while they were defending her.”

“Yes, he might, certainly,” said the doctor, drily; “but how the – ”

“Henry!”

“I only meant dickens. I say how the dickens he was going to carry her off when he was at the party all the time I can’t see.”

“But was he?”

“To the very last. Oh! it will all settle itself into nothing, unless Arthur has taken Helen off into the jungle and married her himself, with Hilton and Chumbley for witnesses.”

“Is this a time for joking, Henry?” said the little lady, reproachfully.

“Really, my dear, it would be no joke if Arthur had his own way.”

“I’m afraid,” sighed little Mrs Bolter, “that Helen Perowne had a good deal to with my brother accepting the chaplaincy.”

“I’m sure she had,” chuckled the doctor.

“If I had thought so I would never have consented to come,” said the lady with asperity.

“Wouldn’t you, Mary? Wouldn’t you?” said the little doctor, taking her in his arms; and the lady withdrew her words just as a step was heard outside.

“Here’s another stoppage,” cried the doctor, impatiently. “Why, it’s Mrs Barlow. What does she want?”

Mrs Barlow was a widow lady of about forty, the relict of a well-to-do merchant of the station, who, after her widowhood, preferred to stay and keep her brother’s house to going back to England; at any rate, as she expressed it, for a few years.

She was one of the set who visited at Mr Perowne’s, and had also been at the trip up the river to the Inche Maida’s home; but being a decidedly neutral-tinted lady, in spite of her black attire, she was so little prominent that mention of her has not been necessary until now.

“Stop a minute;” she exclaimed, excitedly, as she arrested the doctor on his step.

“Not ill, are you, Mrs Barlow?” queried the doctor.

“Not bodily, doctor,” she began, “but – ”

“My wife is inside, my dear madam,” cried the doctor, “and I must be off.”

“Stop!” exclaimed Mrs Barlow, authoritatively; and she took the little doctor’s arm, and led him back into the breakfast-room. “You are his brother, Dr Bolter. Mrs Bolter, you are his sister, ma’am. I can speak freely to you both.”

“Of course, madam, of course,” said the doctor; and then to himself, “Has the woman been taking very strong tea?”

“I have only just learned the terrible news, Dr Bolter – Mrs Bolter,” cried the lady, “and I came on to you.”

“Very kind of you I am sure, ma’am.”

“What do you think, doctor? You have some idea.”

“Not the least at present, ma’am. I was just off to see.”

“That is good of you; but tell me first,” cried the widow, half hysterically. “You do not – you cannot think – that that dreadful woman – ”

“What, the Inche Maida, ma’am?”

“No, no! I mean Helen Perowne – has deluded him into following her away to some other settlement.”

“Whom, ma’am, Hilton or Chumbley?”

“Oh, dear me, no, doctor; I mean dear Mr Rosebury.”

“Oh, you mean dear Mr Rosebury, do you?” said the doctor.

“Yes, Dr Bolter; oh, yes. Tell me; do you think that dreadful girl has deluded him away?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t,” cried the doctor, stoutly. “Hang it all, no! I’d give her the credit of a good deal, but not of that. Hang it, no.”

“Thank you, doctor,” said the lady hysterically. “Of course I should have forgiven it, and set it all down to her; but you do me good, doctor, by assuring me that my surmise is impossible. What do you think then?”

“That it’s all a mystery for us to find out, and I was going to hunt it up when you stopped me, ma’am.”

“Excuse me, Mrs Barlow,” said little Mrs Bolter, who had been fidgeting about, and waiting for an opportunity to speak, “but will you kindly explain what you mean by your very particular allusions to my brother?”

“Must I?” said the lady, with a martyred look.

“If you please, ma’am,” said Mrs Bolter, sternly; and the little lady looked as if she were ready to apply the moral thumbscrews and the rack itself to the visitor if she did not make a clean breast.

“Do you not know?” whispered Mrs Barlow, with a pathetic look, and a timidly bashful casting down of the eyes.

“No, ma’am, I do not,” said little Mrs Bolter, haughtily.

“I thought you must have known,” sighed the lady. “But under these circumstances, when he may be in terrible peril, perhaps crying aloud, ‘Rosina, come to my aid,’ why should I shrink from this avowal? I am not ashamed to own it. Ah, Dr Bolter – oh, Mrs Bolter – I have loved him from his first sermon, when he looked down at me and seemed to address me with that soft, impressive voice which thrilled the very fibres of my heart, and now he is gone – he is gone! What does it mean! What shall we do?”

“Mary, you’d better administer a little sal-volatile, my dear,” said the doctor. “You know the strength; I’m off.”

The doctor backed out of the room, leaving Mrs Barlow sobbing on the sofa, and hurried off in the direction of the Residency, talking to himself on the way.

“This is something fresh!” he muttered; “and it isn’t leap-year either. Rum creatures women! I wonder what Mary is saying to her now! Here, paddle me across,” he said to one of the natives who was cleaning out his sampan ready for any passengers who might want to be put across to the island.

As he neared the landing-stage, he found Mr Harley anxiously busy despatching boat after boat up and down stream, each boat being paddled by a couple of friendly natives, and containing a noncommissioned officer and private selected for their intelligence.

“Ah! that’s right, Harley!” said the doctor, rubbing his hands after a friendly salute, and the information given and taken that there was not the slightest news of the missing people. “But don’t you think we ought to take some steps ashore?”

“Wait a moment; let me ease my mind by getting these fellows off,” said the Resident hoarsely; and he gave the men the strictest injunctions to carefully search the banks of the river, and also to closely question every Malay they met as to whether anything of the missing party had been seen. Eight boats had been sent off upon this mission, the men accepting the task readily enough, irrespective of the promise of reward; and hardly had the last been despatched, when the Resident proposed that they should go across to Mr Perowne’s.

“It is only fair to consult him as to our next proceedings,” said the Resident, gloomily; and almost in silence they were paddled across to the mainland, and went up to the scene of last night’s festivities, where everything looked dismal and in confusion. Half-burnt lanterns hung amidst the trees, tables and chairs were piled up anyhow in the grounds, and the lawn was strewn with the débris of the feast yet uncleared away, the attention of the servants having been so much occupied with their search.

The two new-comers found Mr Perowne quite prostrate with this terrible anxiety, and Mr Stuart trying, with his daughter, to administer some little consolation in the way of hope.

“Cheer up, mon!” the old Scot was saying. “I daresay she’ll turn up all right yet.”

Mr Perowne looked at him so reproachfully that the old Scot paused and then turned uneasily away.

“Poor wretch!” he muttered; “he has trouble eneuch – enough I mean.”

“Ah! Harley, what news?” cried Mr Perowne.

“None as yet,” was the reply.

“Have you sent out boats?”

“Yes, eight; and let us hope that they will discover something.”

“But you do not think they will?”

The Resident was silent.

“Harley here thinks that the Rajah is at the bottom of it all,” said the doctor.

“Impossible!” cried the unhappy father. “He was here when she was missed, or I might have suspected him. I fear it is something worse than even that.”

“I cannot help my suspicions,” said the Resident, quietly. “Perhaps I wrong him.”

“I think ye do, Harley,” said the old Scot. “I saw him here long after Miss Helen must have been gone. I’m thinking she and the young officers have taken a boat and gone down the river for a wee bit of game, seeing the night was fine.”

“Oh! papa,” cried Grey, “I am sure Helen would not have been so imprudent.”

“I’m sure it’s very kind of ye to think so well o’ your schoolfellow, but I’m no’ so sure. Trust me, the Rajah had no hand in the matter.”

“He has plenty of servants who would work his will,” said the Resident, thoughtfully; “but this charge of mine must not go forth to Murad’s ears. If I am wronging an innocent man, we shall have made a fresh enemy; and Heaven knows we have enough without that!”

“You may be right,” said the doctor, “but I have my doubts.”

“He’s wrong,” said old Stuart. “He’s not the man with the spirit in him to do so stirring a thing.”

“And he would never take off those two young fellows and my brother-in-law.”

“I begin to think he has,” said Perowne, snatching at the solution once more, after holding the opinion and casting it off a dozen times. “He has never forgiven her for her refusal. Are we to sit still under his insult, Harley? You have plenty of men under your command.”

“True,” said the Resident; “but should I be justified in calling them out and making a descent on Murad’s town upon the barest suspicion?”

Suggestion after suggestion was offered, as the reason of the Resident’s remark was fully realised; but as time went on the little knot of English people more fully than ever realised how helpless they were in the midst of the Malays, whose good offices they were compelled to enlist.

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!”