One Maid's Mischief Part 38

"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 pa.s.s 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 const.i.tution."

"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.