When her father arrived home that evening, he stopped in the doorway and dropped his bag in amazement.
“Rose?”
Roger Gallway was still a very imposing figure, even though time had turned his formerly blond hair completely white.
Rose used to believe her father was a very important man because he was in charge of the Dutch merchants’ goods. Now she knew that he was only an employee, but he was as important to her as ever, in part since she had his work and goodwill to thank for her excellent education and her chance to go to England to further her talent.
The sight of his blue eyes and dimpled cheeks filled Rose with the same warmth she had felt on seeing her mother. She went over to him and embraced him in the hope that he would emerge from his trance. It worked, for he encircled her with his arms and pressed her to his chest. Rose soon felt one of his tears fall onto her cheek.
As her mother prepared the traditional makanan, a complementary array of dishes for which Padang was famed far and wide, Rose had to give him a full account of all that had happened to her recently. Of course her father had read all her letters several times, but he still managed to coax from her a few more details that she had left out or possibly considered unimportant.
As she spoke, Rose managed for a while to avoid thinking about the number of appearances that lay before her and the demands Carmichael placed on her—and above all, the fact that she would have to perform under the patronage of the governor for the next ten concerts.
“Where will your tour take you next?” her father asked as the delicious smell of the food filled her nostrils.
“I’ll be staying on Sumatra for a few weeks. The governor would like me to play on various occasions.”
“A great honor!” her father acknowledged. “If you like, you can come back here to stay with us. Your mother would love that.”
Rose reddened. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I have my dresser and my agent with me, and in any case, the performances are all in the evenings, so it will be the early hours before I finish.” The look of sadness that crossed her father’s face caused her to add, “But as long as my practicing allows, I’ll visit you every day, I promise.”
That did not appear to cheer Roger Gallway at all. He said nothing, but Rose knew full well that his brooding gaze signified nothing other than disappointment.
“Darling, leave her alone,” her mother said as she came to the table. “She’s not a little girl anymore, as you can see. She’s a grown woman, and if she marries, she certainly won’t be coming back to live with us.”
“But she’s not married yet.”
“It’ll happen one day. Until then, enjoy the fact that she’s here.”
Rose had no idea why, but she suddenly had a mental image of Paul Havenden. She shook the thought away and turned her attention to her bowl of rice, seasoning it with a sharp sauce and adding a few shrimps.
During the night, Rose found sleep elusive. Not that she would ever feel afraid in her childhood bedroom. On the contrary, the familiar feeling that had returned to her the moment she stepped over the threshold drove all tiredness from her and brought new images flooding back from her memory.
As long as she could remember, music had been her life. Many of the girls in Mrs. Faraday’s school had been compelled by their parents to learn the violin, whereas Rose had considered it a loss if she was unable to play for a single day. With horror she remembered the terrifying time, hardly three months after her arrival in London, when she had fallen ill with scarlet fever and been forced to lie in a darkened room, scarcely a sound reaching her ears, because they were worried she would lose her sight and hearing. Those silent weeks had been the worst of her life but had also taught her to play melodies in her head without actually hearing them.
Her thoughts only rarely turned to men. She had many admirers, but she could not imagine a husband by her side. The Englishman was the first to awaken any passion in her, but even with him, she was not sure whether she would ever give up her talent to become his wife.
Ultimately she convinced herself that any such thoughts were madness in any case. Havenden is engaged, she told herself. He will never marry me. He was merely being friendly, nothing more. I’ll probably never see him again.
The next morning, after taking her leave of her parents and promising it would not be years before they saw each other again, Rose made her way to the hotel. She was sure that Carmichael would be out of his mind with worry—if he lost her, he would lose his income, and he would never allow that.
The night before, Rose had finally managed to sleep, only to be haunted by a jumble of confused dreams. She blamed her mother’s stories but did not hold it against her. It was hard to believe that someone from her people had appeared and demanded that she should give up her life to become the headwoman of her clan.
Rose knew that she would not yield to such a request, either. She wanted to see the world, not stagnate in some jungle village. She wanted a career, and to hell with the demands of some village elder!
“Miss Gallway, what a coincidence!” came a voice from behind her. Rose turned to see Paul Havenden crossing the street toward her.
“Lord Havenden,” she replied a little hesitantly, her heart suddenly thumping wildly.
“To what do I owe the honor of seeing you wandering through the city so early in the morning? Are you going to the cockfight too?”
Rose raised her eyebrows. “Surely you’re not going to see that dreadful spectacle?”
“I’m told it’s meant to be very entertaining.”
“Were you also told that the cocks fight to the death?”
“That’s what usually happens in cockfights, isn’t it?”
Rose pouted in disapproval. “It’s barbaric! It may be a tradition in my country, but it’s not something to be recommended to tourists.”
“So what’s your opinion of poultry being used for soup?” Havenden’s eyes gleamed playfully. He seemed to enjoy arguing with her. “That may also be barbaric, but yesterday I was served a delicious local chicken dish.”
“That’s completely different.”
“But the outcome’s the same—the hens die. I’m sure the losing cock would taste very good in a soup.”
Rose frowned. Her delight in seeing Havenden again had faded somewhat. The Englishman seemed to sense it, and he relented a little. “So what would you suggest I do instead?”
“I’m not sure I have any suggestions to make to you,” Rose replied aloofly, but regretted it immediately.
“But you’re advising me against going to the cockfight?”
“I didn’t advise you against it. I merely remarked that those fights are barbaric,” she said in a slightly milder tone.
Paul laughed, and although Rose’s defenses were up, she could not help laughing with him.
“You’d be better off going to watch a shadow play, a wayang kulit,” she said. “When I was a child, those puppeteers were everywhere. Though the plays are very long, and I never succeeded in watching one to the end, since my parents always came to drag me away and tuck me in bed.”
Paul thought it over for a moment, then offered Rose his arm. “How about we go and find one of these puppeteers together?”
Rose looked at him in bewilderment before shaking her head. “I’m afraid I’ll have to decline, as the shows are put on at night. Have you never seen a shadow play in England?”
She clearly remembered going to one of the cinematograph theaters in which shadow plays were also performed. That was also where she had seen, for the first time in her life, one of the moving pictures that had so fascinated her.
“I’m afraid I have no idea about it. But I could tell you quite a bit about horse breeding, if you like.”
“Another time, perhaps,” Rose replied, since she felt that Havenden was using it as an excuse to spend more time with her.
“Why not make that ‘another time’ tonight? How about accompanying me to the shadow puppet show?”
“I think your fiancée should be the one to accompany you. Good day, Lord Havenden.”
Rose’s heart was pounding as she turned.
“Miss Gallway, wait!” he called after her, but she refused to stop or look back, afraid that if she did, she might change her mind.
As Paul returned to the hotel, the image of Rose Gallway’s radiant beauty shone in his mind’s eye. What was the matter with him? He was a businessman, he had a wife, and if all went well, he would soon have a share in a successful plantation. But he felt as if there was something missing, something he could not put his finger on. Why was he being drawn to this woman so? Why had he denied Maggie to her, telling her she was his fiancée? It was not as if he was such a great music lover.
The fact that she had practically run from him only went to show that she did not care for him as much as he had assumed she did. Yet everything inside him was compelling him to see her again, to hear her play again.
“How were things in the city?” Maggie’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Did you reach agreement with your attorney?”
Paul could hear the impatience in his wife’s voice all too well as she reclined on her chaise longue, reaching for a piece of fruit from a nearby bowl. She was probably hoping they could be away from here as soon as possible, and her attitude was beginning to annoy Paul.
“Mijnheer Dankers is a really nice man, but we’re still nowhere near reaching an agreement. I have to see the plantation first.”
Paul saw the look of dismay in Maggie’s eyes. He knew her fears and said, “Don’t worry, you can stay here in the safety of the hotel. Though I’m sure the ladies in London would be bursting with jealousy to hear about your adventures in the jungle.”
“I’m sorry, but I have no intention of becoming a second Marianne North and spending my time pressing flowers between sheets of newspaper.”
Paul was a little surprised that Maggie had even heard of the natural scientist who had included Southeast Asia in her travels. Paul’s father had met her once on a crossing and said what a brilliant example of a woman she was.
“Well, as I said, I’m not forcing you to go,” he replied, and found himself wondering if Rose Gallway was so prickly.
“Thank you,” Maggie retorted listlessly, fanning herself once again.
Paul stood by her in silence for a moment without really knowing what to do. His business obligations were finished for the day, and he was dying to go out for a ride or a walk. His wife looked as if she had taken root on her chaise longue.
“Someone told me that a really fascinating shadow play is being put on tonight,” he began finally, hoping that Maggie would show some enthusiasm for a bit of culture. “Would you fancy seeing it?”
Maggie sat up. Red patches had appeared on her cheeks as if she had a fever. She did not, but rather was reacting to the island heat—even the ceiling fan didn’t seem to cool her enough.
“Shadow play?”
“Yes, a puppeteer moves cutout puppets on sticks. It’s a local tradition.” The brief spark of interest that had flared across his wife’s face faded immediately.
“That would mean going down into the city. Among all those . . . people.”
“Yes.” Paul sat down on the stool by the chaise longue and took her hand. “Darling, what’s the matter with you? I got the impression at the governor’s reception that you had a brilliant time.”
“I did. But I’m still worn out from it, and I’m simply not in the mood for going out tonight.”
“In the mood? But you’re twenty-one! At that age women are usually in the mood for anything!”
“Most women my age don’t have to suffer this heat.”
Paul sighed. He couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that Maggie not only was afraid of this country but seemed to despise it, even loathe it. There seemed to be no point in trying to persuade her to like it—she had already made her mind up.
“As you will. I’ll go alone then,” he said defiantly, and withdrew to the bedroom. The chances of Maggie relenting were slim, but perhaps she would reconsider.
That evening, as Rose was settling down for the evening, Mai appeared in her room in a state of agitation. She had a small envelope in her hand.
“There’s a gentleman downstairs who gave me this letter for you,” she said breathlessly.
Another message from the governor? Rose took the note, went over to the desk, and slit open the envelope with a silver letter opener.
Dear Miss Gallway,
I have managed to find one of the shadow puppeteers you told me about. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to see the show? Today? Now?
Yours,
Paul Havenden
Every single word sent a spark through her veins. She felt her cheeks and brow began to glow as if with a fever. Such persistence! Had she not made it clear enough that she was not interested in spending an evening with him?
“What did the man who gave you the letter look like?” she asked.
“Oh, he is very good-looking. I think I got a glimpse of him at the governor’s residence when I was in the kitchen. I don’t know his name, but he’s still waiting downstairs.”
“He’s waiting downstairs?” Rose looked at her, aghast. Havenden had not sent a servant? What was she to do now?
“Yes, he told me I should bring him your answer, miss.”
Under the bemused gaze of her servant, who knew none of the details of the situation, Rose began to pace up and down in agitation. She would like nothing better than to go with Havenden to watch the shadow play. But would that be right? She read the letter again. It did not sound as though his fiancée would be with them. She couldn’t go out for the evening with a man who had promised marriage to another!
She knew she should give the letter back to Mai and tell her to send him away, but something stopped her. Would it really matter if she went with him? After all, it was a harmless outing to watch the shadow play. Afterward they would go their separate ways, and everything would continue as before.
As Mai ran down to tell him that her mistress would accept his invitation, Rose went over to the clothes trunk that was her constant companion on tour. Mai was responsible for keeping her wardrobe in order at all times, and although the dresses were all very tasteful, Rose now doubted she had anything appropriate. Surely these concert dresses all looked too conservative.
She finally picked out a pink one with a tucked and frilled bodice, tight sleeves, and a very close-fitting long skirt. It might look a little like an evening dress, but it wasn’t too pompous for an evening stroll through the city.
She was going to walk with Lord Havenden through Padang at night! It still sounded outrageous to her, but before she could reconsider, she whisked her dressing gown from her shoulders and slipped into the dress.
Mai returned after five minutes to take care of her hair. Her face was glowing as if Havenden had used those few moments to tell her some embarrassing tales.
“He’s such a lovely man,” she enthused. “What blue eyes he has!”
“Don’t talk so much. Concentrate on getting my hair right,” Rose said, taking her place in front of the dressing table mirror. Mai picked up the brush obediently but continued her chatter. Rose hardly heard a word of it, since her thoughts had leapt forward to the puppeteer’s stall, where the lamps had probably already been lit and the delicately crafted puppets were being checked over.
Those works of art had been such a source of amazement to her as a child. A specific type of puppet was traditionally assigned to each character. The rajahs and princesses, the good girls and honest wise men and women always had slim bodies with long, narrow noses. The puppets for the evil characters were often plump with bulbous noses and, in the case of demons, hideously long teeth, which protruded from their distorted mouths in an embodiment of terror.
Did today’s puppeteers still act out the legends of her childhood?
When she was finally ready, Rose felt a little like Cind
erella in the fairy tale she had first heard a long time ago in the conservatory. Although it was forbidden, Rose had often slipped secretly into the kitchen to watch the women at work, every now and then sneaking an illicit mince pie or scone. These visits to the cooks were usually associated with stories, especially on the evenings when Laura was working. As Rose sat by the fire, she would listen to the tales that were so different from the legends she knew from home. Her Dutch teachers had also told her stories and fairy tales from their homeland, but her favorite was Cinderella, who had to toil for her stepsisters but finally got her prince with the help of her fairy godmother. Rose had always particularly loved the part where Cinderella entered the ballroom in her wonderful dress, and had wished that one day she, too, could wear such magnificent clothes.
Now she left her room with her heart thumping, wondering whether Paul Havenden, admittedly not a prince, but a lord nevertheless, would see in her a princess whom he wanted to whisk off on his white horse to his castle.
No, she warned herself. Don’t be so silly. It would only break your heart when he returned to England and left you in a country on the other side of the world.
As she reached the staircase, she saw him waiting by the hotel reception desk below. Instead of settling himself in one of the leather armchairs, he was pacing up and down restlessly in a way that Rose found touching. Previously, he had betrayed no hint of uncertainty, but now he looked for all the world like a groom waiting for his bride. His dark suit and blood-red ascot suited him perfectly, accentuating the golden shimmer in his hair. He stopped his restless twisting of the walking stick in his hand to pull out his pocket watch and snap it shut again.
Rose decided not to keep him waiting any longer. She pressed her hand to her stomach and tried to breathe away the fluttering inside. Since nothing helped, she set her foot on the first step and called to mind Mrs. Faraday’s advice on coping with stage fright. “Once you start playing, it will disappear of its own accord—you’ll see.”
The Moonlit Garden Page 14