“Sir James has also offered to cover all the costs most generously,” Dorothea put in. “Is it not a happy circumstance?”
Prudence received this news with mixed emotions. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, feeling both astonishment and dread. She also experienced a sudden queer longing to go on the journey as well. Turning to Eleanor, she asked, “You are to remain at home then with your little boy?”
Eleanor blushed rosily and shrugged. “As a matter of fact, Sir James has extended the invitation to me and little Arthur William as well—should I wish to go. Arthur has left that decision to me. I am still contemplating the matter. I have also considered the possibility of accompanying Arthur and leaving our son with my parents.” With a sigh, she added, “It would be heart-wrenching to be separated from little Arthur for so long, but to serve on the mission field with my husband is too thrilling not to consider carefully.”
There was a brief expectant pause as the Greenwoods waited for Prudence to say something. Dorothea regarded her with a questioning gaze. Clearing her throat, Prudence admitted, “I do not know what to say. It is astonishing news indeed. I knew Sir James intended to take a missionary back with him to the island, but I did not realize he had considered you for the position. Will it not be dangerous?” This inquiry she addressed to Dorothea, wondering how her friend truly felt about her son’s upcoming journey. Surely she was worried for his safety?
It was Arthur, however, who answered her question. “We are fully sensible of the risks. James has explained everything most candidly to the both of us.” He indicated his wife with a nod.
“But then there is considerable risk even when going on a picnic to Little Solsbury Hill,” Eleanor reminded Prudence with an impish smile. “Your aunt was kind enough to point this out to you.”
Arthur laughed at this. So did Dorothea. Prudence gave Eleanor a wan smile before saying, “I think the possibility of shipwreck, pirates and deadly diseases, such as cholera, are a little more frightening than the possibility of a bee sting or sprained ankle.”
“That is why I wish for Eleanor to decide whether she and our son will come with me or whether they will remain at home,” Arthur put in. “I will be content with whatever she decides.”
“We are praying for guidance in the matter,” Eleanor said. “As the journey is still six to eight months in the future, we have time to consider and plan accordingly. Will you pray for us, Prudence?”
“Most certainly,” she replied, fully sensible of the importance of doing so.
“Do you not think it will be a great adventure?” Dorothea asked, passing the plate of cakes to Prudence.
Declining the offer of more refreshments, Prudence experienced another pang of confusion. While she felt some fear for her new friends venturing so far from home, she also envied their opportunity to do so. A sidelong glance in Dorothea’s direction aroused a suspicion her dear friend was not as accepting of Arthur’s opportunity as she pretended to be either. Forcing herself to sound more cheerful than she felt, Prudence replied, “It is indeed a great adventure.”
“And if one cannot feel safe with Sir James, one cannot feel safe with any man,” Eleanor declared with a challenging thrust of her chin.
Prudence nodded. It was true. There was something about the outspoken baronet that exuded efficiency, trustworthiness and safety. James would give his life to protect his friends and colleagues. She only hoped he would never have occasion to do so. She also realized that once James left England, there was a strong chance she would never see him again, even if nothing dreadful happened upon the voyage or during his extended stay in the Far East. He had already survived all manner of hardships. No doubt he would return in triumph once more, bringing Eleanor and Arthur safely home again. But Prudence had visited her aunt in Bath many times before and had never made his acquaintance until now. The likelihood they might never meet again was high. And even should they do so in the distant future, James would no doubt be married by then. It was a dreadful contemplation.
“Who will take care of your parish duties in you absence?” Prudence asked, forcing herself to dismiss tortured thoughts about James from her troubled mind.
“My curate will be happy to fill in while I am away,” Arthur assured her.
Turning to Dorothea, Prudence asked with quiet sincerity, “Does not your heart fill with foreboding at the thought of their leaving for so long a voyage and so far away?”
“I must confess, at first I did have moments of dread when I contemplated Arthur’s participation in such a venture. But Sir James has spoken with us at length about the matter, and I have nearly banished every feeling of regret or concern.”
“Nearly,” Prudence repeated in a colorless tone.
“Sir James’s enthusiasm is contagious,” Eleanor put in.
“I have come to realize this is a fine opportunity for Arthur,” Dorothea went on. “James will not spare any expense to ensure the success of the mission and Arthur’s comfort and safety as well. He will take all necessary precautions, I know. And besides,” she said, straightening her thin shoulders, “there is not need to speculate about all the dreadful things that could happen in the Far East. I feel certain James will not expect Arthur to fight pirates. I will trust God to protect them from all such hazards.”
“If I decide to accompany Arthur, Sir James has promised to build me an aviary filled with the birds of the island,” Eleanor said, in breathless tones.
“Such shameless bribery!” Prudence declared, not altogether joking.
Her friends laughed.
“But you will be vulnerable to attack from pirates, will you not?” Prudence asked, concerned.
“There is a stockade, you know, with a small military detachment,” Arthur reminded her. “Besides, James has won the hearts and allegiance of the native Dyaks. They will fight with him, if need be, should the pirates be foolish enough to come into the harbor. Did you know the natives use blow tubes that dispense poison arrows?” His wide eyes glowed with boyish fascination.
“Good heavens, Arthur!” Dorothea exclaimed. “You sound as if you would enjoy being in the midst of such a battle with blow tubes and spears and pirate cutlasses.”
Arthur chortled. “No, in point of fact. I am certain the best part of that sort of engagement is living to tell of it—or hearing others tell about their victories in far away battles. But I will confess it is thrilling to listen to James tell of his adventures in the Far East. In my mind, he has taken on the cast of a romantic hero, rather like one of those Elizabethan adventurers we learned about at school.”
“Such as Sir Francis Drake or Sir Walter Raleigh?” Prudence asked, her lips twitching.
Arthur bestowed a sheepish grin upon her. “Precisely!”
Eleanor and Dorothea exchanged amused glances.
“Sir James Brownell, the White Rajah of Borneo,” Eleanor said, smiling. “It does have an adventuresome ring to it.”
Leaning forward, Arthur added, “You should see the way James’s eyes light up when he talks of how he outwitted that cruel Malay chieftain with a fat face and little pig eyes!” Chuckling, he sat back in his chair. “He described the villain to me so well, I am certain I could pick him out in a crowd.”
“The crowded Pump Room, you mean,” Eleanor teased.
They all laughed, even Prudence.
On a more serious note, Arthur added, “James’s skills at diplomacy have attracted the attention of the Prince Regent, don’t you know?”
Prudence experienced an unexpected surge of pride on James’s behalf. The man was such a paradox. On the one hand, he was brusque and outspoken, even curt at times. On the other hand, he seemed to excel in his amateur diplomatic efforts, even winning the confidence of heathen headhunters. But Sir James Brownell was a puzzle she found herself contemplating all too often of late.
“It is odd,” Arthur mused aloud. “I have known James since we were boys. For him, everything falls neatly into two camps—good or evil. There i
s no in between. One would think a man with such rigid attitudes would make many mistakes in judgment. But that does not seem to be the case in this instance.”
Prudence frowned. “What a strange attitude for a clergyman to take.”
Arthur shrugged, giving her a rather rueful smile.
“The last time he came to call, Sir James told us about two little girls who paddled their canoe upriver to come see him,” Eleanor spoke up in an eager fashion. “The children had heard that he would soon be departing again for England and they wanted to say good-bye to him. Sir James was so tickled he allowed them the run of his bungalow, gave them a tour of the gardens, and let them wind up his music box over and over again, as often as they liked. He even insisted they stay for tea, and when evening fell, he saw to it they slept upon mats on the floor in his own room, where he could keep his eye on them during the night.”
“He sent them home at first light, but not before seeing that they’d been served a hearty English breakfast,” Arthur added, grinning. “Think of the tale they must have told when they returned home!”
Smiling, Dorothea shook her head at this anecdote. So did Prudence. “Sir James is a good man,” Dorothea proclaimed. Prudence said nothing. The lump in her throat prevented her from speaking.
“It is no wonder he has won the hearts of the natives there, if that is the way he treats their children,” Eleanor observed.
Seeing an elderly gentleman of his acquaintance, Arthur rose to greet him as he passed close by their table. Turning to Eleanor, Prudence asked quietly, “Are you not apprehensive, just a little? Be honest, Eleanor. Does it not frighten you to think of Arthur journeying so far away from home?”
Her eyes alight with secret amusement, Eleanor replied, “Most certainly, but don’t tell Arthur. He might possibly reconsider, and I don’t want him to change his mind. I know how keen he is to go. In truth, Sir James has enchanted me too with his tales of the island. Such green forests, such blue skies, such shining rivers! He has described them so well I long to see them for myself. I am seriously considering accompanying Arthur, you know.”
Dorothea placed a hand lightly upon Prudence’s wrist, saying, “Sir James has been teasing Arthur, promising he will have one of the chieftains demonstrate the infamous Dyak war cry so that Arthur may return to his own parish and enthrall his own parishioners with his newly acquired skill.”
“Is it frightening, then?” Prudence asked, intrigued.
Dorothea laughed, shaking her head. “Sir James said the first time one of the tribal chiefs demonstrated it for him, he was quite disappointed. Apparently it’s a high, piercing cry, hardly the bloodcurdling whoop he’d expected.”
Prudence briefly imagined the warriors bristling with spears and swords and wearing tiger tooth necklaces. She shuddered. “I daresay if anyone heard the war cry shouted by a hundred armed warriors it would be quite frightening then.”
“True,” Dorothea agreed.
“Prudence, perhaps when we return, we may be permitted to visit your father’s parish to tell of our missionary experiences,” Eleanor ventured. “Think of it! I shall entertain the children in your Sunday School with tales of headhunters and Arthur shall perform the war cry of the mighty Dyak for them.”
They laughed about this and Arthur, after Eleanor repeated it to him when he rejoined them at the table, chuckled as well. “I hope to learn much of the native language while I’m there too. Maybe I can even attempt to translate one of the Gospels in the native tongue,” Arthur said, eyes gleaming.
A fashionably dressed couple stopped at the table then to greet Arthur and Eleanor. Arthur introduced his mother and Prudence to Mr. and Mrs. Hardy, an amiable roly-poly pair, visiting from the same county where the younger Greenwoods resided. While they caught up on the news, Dorothea and Prudence excused themselves to stroll through the gardens.
Alone at last with her close friend, Prudence asked, “Dorothea, you must have some qualms about this upcoming journey, I am sure.” She had not failed to note how the older woman had been clasping her thin, gloved hands together so tightly as they had talked at the table.
“I do, I will admit it,” Dorothea replied. “Any mother would feel the same. When Arthur first told me of his plans, I felt both surprised and unhappy, and yes, even fearful. No one likes to think of her children being in any possible danger. My first reaction was to urge him to drop the notion altogether. But then, I could tell he so wanted to go. And when I reflected that only a month ago I came near to losing him to a virulent attack of influenza, I had to admit that Arthur could be equally in mortal danger here at home. With a sigh she added, “Arthur is not at all fearful, and I do not want my motherly trepidation to influence his decisions. But I confess, Prudence, I will live in hourly dread until he has returned safely once more.”
Experiencing her own vague sense of dread, Prudence felt certain she would not know a moment’s peace until Arthur and James—and Eleanor, should she chose to accompany them—returned home to England safe and unhurt. “Of course, it is nonsensical to worry about it now before they have even departed,” she said.
Dorothea readily agreed. The two fell into a companionable silence as they strolled through the gardens. Prudence, noting the playful antics of a busy squirrel, silently acknowledged a pang of longing for her young nieces and nephews. It had been more than three months since she’d last seen her siblings’ children.
“It is a shame Sir James is not married and has no bride to provide companionship for Eleanor, should she decide to go with them,” Dorothea mused.
Prudence ignored this remark, concentrating instead on the beauty of the garden and the faint aroma of verbena wafting upon the breeze.
“I suppose there is no chance that Margaret might change her mind—not after her display of emotion at the picnic, which Eleanor described to me as quite uncontrollable,” Dorothea went on. “I imagine your cousin’s tender affections are quite fixed upon young Harry Paige.”
“There can be no doubt about that,” Prudence assured her. She did not want to pursue this avenue of conversation. It made her feel restless and ill at ease, so she quickly changed the subject. “It is my belief that Sir James intended all along to offer Arthur the position of missionary. That is perhaps why he has been so solicitous in helping your son to recover his former robust health.”
“Perhaps,” Dorothea replied, uncertain. “Do you think he intended for Margaret to accompany him to Borneo as well? Or would he have let your cousin remain in Bath with her mother after the wedding?”
“How can I say?” Prudence asked. “It does no good to speculate about it now, but I would find it difficult to imagine Margaret in the role of rani, presiding over a demonstration of war dances or boiling sheets following a cholera outbreak or any of the other tasks that must fall upon a woman in such circumstances. Besides, I cannot believe my Aunt Judith would have allowed her to make the voyage.”
Prudence gave a short laugh. “While my aunt might have been eager for the match between Margaret and Sir James, she would not have wanted her daughter to venture to the other side of the world where there are far more hazards than can be encountered upon Little Solsbury Hill. No, I am fairly certain after the wedding, Aunt Judith would have collapsed upon her couch with the most lachrymose of expressions, her bottle of smelling salts in one hand and a damp handkerchief in the other. Once she dissolved into tears, Margaret would be hard-pressed to leave her.”
Dorothea chuckled. “Still, it would have been a suitable match, and I am sorry it did not come off. I am sure you must feel the same.”
Reluctant to share her true feelings about the matter, Prudence merely shrugged.
“Or perhaps you are relieved that they did not make a match of it?” Dorothea ventured, giving her an arch look.
Prudence’s shoulders tightened even as her heart gave a slight lurch. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked, fixing her gaze upon a particularly large rose.
With a quizzical note in her voic
e, Dorothea said, “Prudence, I have a rather strong notion you are not as indifferent to Sir James as you’d like others to believe.”
Blushing, Prudence said nothing. When she glanced sidelong at Dorothea, she observed a good deal of comprehension in her friend’s eyes.
“No doubt Lady Brownell even now is busy contemplating another suitable match for her eligible son,” Dorothea said on a lighter note.
Prudence recalled what Lady Brownell had told her on the evening of Aunt Judith’s private concert—that James was so lonely. It had tugged at her heartstrings then and did so again now. Of course, one could not willingly marry a man simply because one felt sorry for him. But like Dorothea, she believed Lady Brownell was indeed actively seeking a suitable bride for her son now that Margaret had rejected his suit.
The image of the St. Vincent sisters, who had been so enthusiastically described by Mrs. Belmont as identical rosebuds, came to Prudence’s mind. Such a dreary vision. Still, her spirits rallied when she considered what Sir James had once told her about the beauties he’d met in London on previous visits—how they were all consumed by fripperies and had no thought for the more serious aspects of life. He told her he considered such women to be shallow and unappealing. Perhaps the lovely Eudora and Helene St. Vincent were shallow too. Prudence could only hope so. But it would not do to waste time with this sort of idle speculation. She would only succeed in casting herself into the dismals, and she mustn’t do that. Although she seldom felt depressed, once low spirits settled upon her like a heavy, damp shawl, they were so difficult to shrug off.
“I cannot imagine that Sir James would appreciate his mother’s efforts to provide him with a suitable bride,” Prudence said in a tight voice. “I would not like to provoke his wrath by suggesting any young lady in particular.”
Dorothea nodded. “Nor I. But I am sure Lady Brownell goes to great pains to introduce him to every eligible female that she can think of. I have heard that Sir James was greatly admired in London—that many ambitious mamas shoved their eligible daughters underneath his nose for his possible consideration. They were quite willing to overlook his rough manners, his sunburned skin and his lack of fashion finesse. Some say that’s why he came to Bath before the end of the season--to get away from all the hoopla. No, Lady Eliza will not rest until she sees Sir James suitably wed. And he will marry, of course. He must. He is the last of the Brownells. He must marry and beget an heir. I believe he will be thinking of marriage even more seriously now that his second voyage is so near at hand.”
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