“Good morning, My Lord!” Emily said in a coquettish way with the look in her eyes that she accorded any man, young or old, when she was alone with him.
“Good morning, Emily!” Lord Hawkston replied. “Will you please sit down? I wish to talk to you.”
“That sounds ominous!” Emily exclaimed. “Is anything wrong?”
“I wish to inform you,” Lord Hawkston said, “that I am arranging for your passage back to England on the first available ship.”
He saw Emily’s eyes widen in an incredulous look of surprise and went on before she could speak:
“I happened to be in the garden last night when Captain O’Neill visited you in a somewhat irregular manner.”
For a moment Emily was still, then she said:
“Captain O’Neill has asked me to marry him.”
“I should imagine that is the least he could do,” Lord Hawkston remarked dryly.
“And I was just debating,” Emily Ludgrove went on, “as to whether I should accept his offer.”
“The choice is quite simple,” Lord Hawkston said. “Either you accept Captain O’Neill, or I send you back to England.”
“Then I think you know, My Lord, what my answer will be,” Emily Ludgrove said with a smile. “You will, I am sure, make my apologies to Gerald, but I doubt if we should have found much happiness together after being so long apart.” She rose from the sofa as she spoke and Lord Hawkston could not help thinking that she had accepted the situation with a poise he would not have expected of her.
“If you have nothing more to say to me, My Lord,” she went on, “I will retire and write a letter to Captain O’Neill, making him, he assures me, the happiest man in the world!”
“I have nothing more to say,” Lord Hawkston said. “I feel you would not be interested in hearing my opinion of your behaviour.”
“Why should I be?” Emily replied. “You do not understand, or else you have forgotten, what it is like to be young! One is old a long time, so I intend to enjoy myself while I can, and there are men who are only too anxious to help me.”
There was nothing Lord Hawkston felt he could answer to this and he bowed rather ironically as Emily swept away from him towards the door.
She turned back as she reached it.
“Please tell Gerald,” she said in dulcet tones, “how very much I regret making him miserable and say that I hope we shall always be friends.”
She went from the room before Lord Hawkston could think of a suitable retort. Then despite his anger at her behaviour he could not help laughing.
She certainly had a nerve that he would not have anticipated and he felt that if anyone might have kept Gerald in order it would have been Emily Ludgrove.
At the same time he was quite sure she was right. She would never have stood the loneliness of a plantation in the hill country, and even if they had come to Colombo, or returned to England, he was certain that Emily would not have been content with Gerald.
Somehow she would have contrived that a number of other men were available to lay their hearts at her feet, and if meanwhile she hurt her husband’s feelings, it would be something he would have to put up with.
Lord Hawkston sighed. That was one chapter closed.
Now there was Gerald to contend with and he was quite certain that James Taylor was right when he had said that what the boy needed was a sensible wife.
The trouble was where to find one?
He stood looking out at the garden. The flowers were a blaze of colour; there were purple orchids, the crimson hibiscus, and the white trumpet-like flowers of the frangipani—or Temple trees.
It looked a perfect setting for love but Lord Hawkston told himself that he was the last person capable of choosing a wife for his nephew.
After all, he had been unable to choose one for himself and at thirty-seven he had come to the conclusion that he would remain a bachelor.
He was well aware when he returned to England that his relatives thought he should marry and he found himself being invited to meet innumerable attractive widows or girls who for some reason or another had not ‘got off’ in the first flush of their youth.
The family had waited expectantly for him to fall in love and were quite unreasonably disappointed when he did not.
His Aunt even tackled him on the subject.
“After all, Chilton,” she said, “you know as well as I do that you should now settle down and produce an heir. I always think it so much better when the title goes in a direct line.”
“You can hardly say it has come in a direct line as far as I am concerned,” Lord Hawkston replied with a smile.
“I am well aware of that,” his Aunt answered, “and that is why I think you should produce a son as quickly as possible.”
“I have first to find a wife.”
“I have been looking around for you,” his Aunt said, “and there are several ladies whom I consider suitable.”
“I have an uncomfortable feeling that your plans will go awry,” Lord Hawkston replied. “I have no intention, Aunt Alice, and let me make this quite clear, of marrying anyone for the sake of the title, the Estate, or the family-tree.”
“Now, Chilton,” his Aunt said sharply, “do not be so difficult. I am not suggesting that you should marry someone without affection but you are getting a little old to be knocked head-over-heels at the sight of a pretty face.”
“You are right there,” Lord Hawkston smiled.
“Therefore, if I find you a charming woman, between twenty-five to thirty, or perhaps even a little older, experienced and sophisticated, who will amuse and entertain you, then doubtless in time she will arouse a response in your heart!”
The problem was, Lord Hawkston found, that the women his Aunt produced aroused no response either in his heart or his mind.
He told himself that perhaps he was expecting too much, and yet although he appeared to be reserved and ruthless, there was deep inside him a longing for a love that might mean as much to him as the beauty of Ceylon.
Often, when he had stood on the verandah of his house and looked at the green mountains peaking round it towards the sky, at the torrent of crystal water rushing below him in the valley, he had felt that the sheer beauty of it evoked a response in him that was almost like the first rising of desire for a very beautiful women.
“It is absurd to be in love with a country!” he told himself.
And yet he knew he had grown to love Ceylon as a man might love his wife.
The loveliness, the softness, the gentleness of it, combined with the warm moist air, were everything that was feminine, everything that inspired a feeling that was almost spiritual in its intensity.
‘That is what love should be!’ he thought, and tried to laugh at his own fantasy.
CHAPTER TWO
Lord Hawkston decided that he would speak to the Governor about his problem of finding a wife for his nephew, Gerald.
He was wondering what he would tell Sir Arthur about Emily Ludgrove, only to find the moment he opened the conversation that she had forestalled him.
Sir Arthur Gordon, a grandson of the Earl of Aberdeen, whom Lord Hawkston had known slightly before he left for England, was a man of austere dignity who inspired his subordinates with awe as well as respect.
When he had assumed charge in Ceylon in 1883 the island was still racked by the economic crisis of the coffee slump, but the tide was turning slowly and the plantations were exploring the possibilities not only of tea but also of cinchong.
Sir Arthur took a personal interest in these developments especially the establishment of the tea industry. He had sent inspectors to Loolecondera and Lord Hawkston’s plantation and had been extremely impressed by their reports. He was later to visit several tea-plantations himself.
Both James Taylor and Lord Hawkston liked him and found it easy to convince him that tea would bring prosperity back to Ceylon.
What Lord Hawkston particularly liked about Sir Arthur was his determination to
demonstrate his impartiality to all races.
In fact just before Lord Hawkston left for England, the Governor had threatened to withdraw his patronage from a European-Colombo Club which tried to exclude certain Ceylonese from its membership.
What endeared him even further was that he protected the interests of the village Head-men and the property rights of Buddhist Temples.
He was the most enlightened and progressive Governor Ceylon had had for many years.
He carried out the restoration of many irrigation tanks and canals, completed the Colombo Port’s breakwater, the foundation stone of which had been laid by the Prince of Wales in 1875, extended the railway, and began to build an estimated 260 miles of new roadways.
It would have been difficult for people in England, Lord Hawkston thought as he looked at him, to realise the power of a Governor of Ceylon. He not only reigned but ruled, surrounded by all the trappings of Royalty.
He had residences in Colombo, Nuwara, Sliya, Kandy and Jaffma; he had a Ceylonese bodyguard more imposing than the Beefeaters in England, and a troop of Sikh cavalry to precede and follow him on visits of State.
A line Regiment furnished him with a guard; he had a special train for his travels.
All memoranda to the Queen passed through his hands. He had the last word, and what his last word was none knew but himself.
It was impossible not to remember that Sir Arthur was an aristocrat and very conscious of his authority, so that Lord Hawkston wondered how much it would be wise to tell him about Emily Ludgrove.
He decided that he would not mention her behaviour with Captain O’Neill, not because he was particularly concerned with protecting Emily’s reputation, but because he liked Patrick O’Neill and felt that in choosing such a wife he would certainly have enough problems on his hands.
However when Lord Hawkston entered the Governor’s study they were alone, the secretary having been dismissed, and Sir Arthur said with a smile:
“I know what you have come to tell me, Hawkston. Miss Ludgrove has already informed me that she wishes to marry Captain O’Neill.”
Lord Hawkston did not reply and Sir Arthur went on: “I feel this will be annoying for you, considering that you brought her out especially to marry your nephew. From all I hear the young man needs the steadying influence of a wife.” Lord Hawkston was not surprised that the Governor had so intimate knowledge of Gerald’s behaviour.
He was far more astute than people realised and although in the grandeur and splendour of the Queen’s House he seemed immune from the commonplaces of everyday life, there was in fact little that went on not only in Colombo, but also in other parts of the country, of which he was not aware.
“I am afraid, Your Excellency, that my nephew has been making a fool of himself,” Lord Hawkston admitted.
“It happens to a great number of young men when they first come out here,” Sir Arthur answered, “and as you and I well know, Hawkston, there are plenty of people who are only too willing to help a man sow his wild oats, especially if he has money to pay for them.”
“That is true,” Lord Hawkston agreed somewhat grudgingly.
He remembered certain wild nights he had experienced when he first arrived in Colombo, but he had been far too careful of his precious money to expend much of it on tawdry women and the dubious entertainments which were provided for greenhorns who had just arrived from England.
He had later, however, enjoyed a pleasant liaison with a very pretty Portuguese in Kandy whom he visited whenever he could spare the time from running his plantation. It had lasted for years but he had been very discreet about it.
It hurt his pride now to realise that Gerald’s misdemeanours were known even to the Governor.
“I wish we could have taken better care of your nephew when he first came out,” Sir Arthur was saying thoughtfully. “He had several meals here but, as you well know, hospitality in Governor House is inevitably formal and must seem tedious to the young. I have learnt from my Secretary that we invited him to a Ball I gave at Christmas, but he did not reply to the invitation.”
Lord Hawkston’s lips tightened.
If there was one thing he disliked more than anything else it was bad manners. He had thought in the short time he had known Gerald when he was in England that he at least knew how to behave like a gentleman in public.
“Anyway the question now is,” the Governor went on, “what are you going to do about him?”
“I intend, Your Excellency, to provide him with a wife,” Lord Hawkston replied in a hard voice. “I came out here with the girl he had chosen for himself, but as those plans have gone awry I must make good the deficiency by finding him someone else.”
Sir Arthur laughed.
“Is not that just like you, Hawkston? You have a reputation for being undefeatable, and all I can say is that Gerald Warren is a lucky young man to have you as an Uncle.”
“Naturally I shall need your help.”
The Governor laughed again.
“I cannot believe that I can be of any real assistance. I assure you there is a scarcity of charming unattached young ladies in this establishment! Nevertheless, it should not be difficult to find someone suitable amongst the many English families living in Colombo.”
He sat down at his desk and put his hand to his forehead. “Let me think about it. I have not really taken very much notice of the military families, but I dare say there are one or two daughters of officers not yet snapped up by some eager Subaltern.”
“I should prefer a girl who has lived in Colombo for some time,” Lord Hawkston said. “I have grown so used myself to seeing all the admirable qualities of this country, that I had forgotten that people new to the rather specialised existence here might find a few snags.”
“You are thinking of the loneliness of being isolated on a plantation for months on end,” Sir Arthur said with a serious note in his voice. “You will have to find a very exceptional girl who will stand that sort of life, Hawkston. If you will forgive my saying so, I thought from the moment I set eyes on Miss Ludgrove that she was not the right type.”
“I see that now,” Lord Hawkston agreed, “but she was Gerald’s choice—not mine.”
“And do you think he will be prepared to accept yours without having any say in the matter?”
“He will do as he is told, unless he wishes to be sent back to England,” Lord Hawkston declared. “In which case he can work his passage; for I have no intention of paying it for him!”
He spoke in the ruthless, determined manner which was familiar to those who worked with him.
The Governor gave him a speculative glance before he said quietly:
“Playing God where love and marriage are concerned is a tricky business, Hawkston. You may burn your fingers.”
“I am listening to Your Excellency’s warning,” Lord Hawkston answered, “but I still need your assistance.”
“I have just seen the list of the people who are dining here tonight,” the Governor said, “and none of them will be of any use in this respect. All I can say is that you had best take a glance at the Congregation in Church tomorrow morning.”
He saw the expression on Lord Hawkston’s face and said with a smile:
“You know as well as I do that if you stay in the Queen’s House you are expected to accompany the Governor to Morning Prayers.”
“I am quite prepared to do my duty,” Lord Hawkston replied.
“It will not be as hard as you think,” Sir Arthur went on. “I have restricted the Vicar to a sermon not longer than fifteen minutes.
The following morning in the grey stone Church of St. Peter’s which was not far from the Queen’s House, Lord Hawkston, looking round the Congregation, saw the pews were filled with elegant figures that would have surprised those who thought that Ceylon was a backwater and out of touch with the world of fashion.
Gowns of taffeta, silk, satin, bombazine, ornamented with lace, braid, buttons or ribbon were not only fashionable but lux
urious!
So were the extremely fetching bonnets and hats, trimmed with flowers and feathers, that rested on the elegantly coiffeured heads of the female worshippers.
Lord Hawkston had always heard that Sunday in Colombo was a fashion parade, but as he had never himself attended a Service in the capital it surprised him to see so many European faces. He noticed that many of them were extremely attractive.
He had however a suspicion that the most elegantly garbed and certainly the most sophisticated were the wives of Army officers or Government Officials.
Behind the European Congregation with an aisle between them sat the Ceylonese, even more resplendent in their colourful saris, their silks and cottons dyed by using the wax-resistant handicraft process which was, Lord Hawkston knew, a speciality of local weavers.
The rich and exotic colours and materials, ranging from the simplest gossamer to glittering embroidery, made the Ceylonese worshippers look like a bouquet of flowers against the grey stone of the Church walls.
The Governor had been met at the Church-door by the Vicar in his surplice, and escorted in the traditional manner to his stall in the Chancel, where there were comfortable velvet cushions and prayer-books emblazoned with the British Coat-of-Arms.
Opposite the Governor’s stall were the seats for the choir and behind them an organ which, Lord Hawkston noticed as the Service began, was played by a young woman wearing a white cotton dress and an ugly black bonnet tied with black ribbons.
She looked, he thought, very austere compared with the other women in the Congregation. Then he noticed with surprise that her dress was duplicated by five other figures seated at the back of the choir stalls.
All five wore identical white cotton dresses, black bonnets and black gloves and their waists were encircled with narrow black sashes.
He thought at first that it must be a special costume for choir women, but as he stared at them he heard the Governor whisper in his ear:
Moon Over Eden (Bantam Series No. 37) Page 3