Trying to keep her interest inconspicuous, Jessica casually loosened the jacket of her riding habit and looked Kara over carefully while the girl feasted her eyes upon the beauty of the garden. She was very pretty and, Jessica mused, she scarcely looked like a thief. Still, it seemed odd that she spoke no English at all. And whatever language she did speak was nothing like any Jessica had ever heard. The girl turned and smiled at her, and Jessica smiled back. It occurred to her then that it was exceedingly awkward not being able to converse with her. When she saw Sir Brian descending the terrace steps a moment or so later, she leapt quickly to her feet.
“Good morning, sir,” she called with more enthusiasm than he was accustomed to hearing in her voice. “You are in good time to meet our guest. I cannot introduce you properly, of course, for I do not know her full name, and I must agree with my sister that Mrs. Borthwick’s suggestion seems improbable. As to that, I suppose Kara would be as unable to pronounce your name as she seems to be to say any of ours. Still, you can at least have a look at her and see for yourself how pretty she is.” His understanding smile telling her better than words would have done that she sounded perfectly demented, Jessica gathered her dignity and turned toward the girl, who was watching Sir Brian’s approach with wary interest. “This is Sir Brian Gregory, Kara,” Jessica enunciated carefully, pointing at him.
The girl murmured something, then gave a sad shake of her head, as though the foreign sounds were too much for her unpracticed tongue to imitate. Then, with a regal air that surpassed Sir Brian’s at his most arrogant, she held up her hand to him.
“I believe she expects me to kiss her hand,” he said in an aside to Jessica as he nodded to the girl.
“Or perhaps to kneel before her,” she suggested with a wicked gleam in her eye. He shot her a speaking look, and she chuckled. “She certainly does have an air about her. Even Mrs. Borthwick, though she still refers to her as young Kara, or more simply as ‘that young person,’ treats her with respect to her face.”
“And Borthwick?”
Jessica chuckled again. “Doesn’t pay her any heed at all. She might as well be so much air as far as he is concerned. I cannot recall a single instance when he has referred to her at all.”
“I see.” His expression was serious, but he said nothing else, beyond asking her if she was ready to depart, and Jessica nodded, surprised that he did not see the humor she saw in the situation. She was further surprised when he indicated to Kara that she was to accompany them inside. It would have been more logical, as Jessica saw matters, to have left her to enjoy the warmth of the garden while they followed the path around the house to the stables.
Mrs. Borthwick met them in the hall and took charge of Kara, saying she had some nice broth waiting upstairs for her. Borthwick approached them just then to see if either Sir Brian or Jessica had orders for him, and Jessica watched curiously as Sir Brian took him to one side and spoke quietly with him. She could not overhear their conversation, but she saw grim respect dawning in Borthwick’s eyes as he nodded in reply to something Sir Brian said. A moment later Sir Brian turned back to her.
“Ready?”
She made a face at him. “Hours ago.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he told her, looking down into her eyes, an enigmatic expression in his own.
Instantly, all thought of the strange girl vanished, and Jessica felt only warm and alive and excited about the ride ahead. She could not reach the stables quickly enough, and even the fact that her groom rode close behind them could not spoil the sudden magic of the morning for her.
5
THE RIDE WAS EVERYTHING Jessica had expected it to be and more. When she put her heels to her mount on a long, straight patch of greensward, Sir Brian responded instantly and with enthusiasm, turning the run into a race and beating her by a horse’s length. She drew up beside him, laughing.
“That was wonderful!”
He grinned at her but said nothing, merely giving his horse its head and moving on at a walk. They rode for some time in companionable silence until they came to a gate. As soon as she saw it, Jessica turned in her saddle and signaled her groom to ride ahead and open it for them. But Sir Brian, giving her a look, waved the lad away and, leaning down from his saddle, swung the gate back easily himself. With a courtly gesture, he indicated that Jessica should precede him, then followed her, leaving the groom to shut the gate behind them.
Strangely, it did not bother Jessica at all to have her order so casually countermanded. Nor did it disturb her independent spirit some moments later as they rode through a shady wood, when Sir Brian insisted that she fasten the jacket of her riding habit despite the fact that she told him she wasn’t the least bit chilly.
“It is not good to allow yourself to become overheated and then to cool off so rapidly,” he said gently.
Both the tone and the look that accompanied his words lit that familiar warm flame inside her again, and she looked away, flushing slightly, but feeling a strange sense of security that she could not remember having felt before. As she obediently fastened the spencer to her throat, the notion occurred to her that she might perhaps learn to trust the large man riding beside her to take care of her, that she might no longer have to take that burden entirely to herself if she would but allow herself to follow his lead. It was a notion that was foreign to her, however, for even her parents had encouraged her to depend upon herself. If anything, Jessica mused, she took care of other people. No one but Jessica took care of Jessica. She stole a glance at her companion. He was looking straight ahead, but there was a distinct twinkle in his eye. No doubt she was merely fantasizing, she told herself firmly.
Searching for a safe topic of conversation, she gestured at last toward the stitching on his saddle blanket. “Why does your crest feature a unicorn’s head?” she asked.
Sir Brian chuckled. “Mere whimsy,” he told her. “My esteemed ancestor, the first baronet, was so astonished to be granted a title that he took the unicorn, that most incredible of medieval beasts, as his signet. No doubt his attitude and the fact that his descendants likewise refuse to refine too much upon the business is the reason no further titles have been granted.”
Conversation between them proceeded easily after that, and they nearly lost track of the time, returning to Gordon Hall at last to find Andrew awaiting them impatiently, a middle-aged swarthy-looking man in dark trousers and a duffel coat beside him.
“Miss Sutton-Drew, Uncle Brian, I think I have found someone who can help us solve the riddle of Kara,” Andrew said, walking quickly toward them as they dismounted in the stableyard. “You’ll never guess what happened.”
“But you will tell us, no doubt,” Sir Brian said, handing his reins to the groom and glancing at Jessica to see if she was ready to go into the house. “Perhaps your tale might wait until we have at least gone inside, out of the sun?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Andrew replied, abashed. “I didn’t mean to fall on your necks in such a fashion. Oh,” he added, as an afterthought, “this is Ling Chow. He is Malaysian.” His last words were spoken in such a tone as to show that he considered the information to be of great importance, but Sir Brian merely shook the man’s hand and introduced Miss Sutton-Drew before leading the way into the garden saloon.
Jessica rang for refreshments, and suggested that they all take seats. Then she spoke to Andrew. “You were going to tell us how you met Mr. Chow,” she said.
“Beg pardon, miss,” interposed the stranger softly. “Is Ling, Mr. Ling. In this country, people say Oriental names backward.”
“How interesting, Mr. Ling. Do forgive my ignorance. Did I hear Andrew say you are Malaysian?”
“Yes, miss, from Malay peninsula. China, you know.”
“No. That is, I didn’t know,” she confessed. “I fear that geography is not a favorite subject of mine, and I can never keep the Oriental countries straight in my mind.”
“Nor I,” Andrew said, laughing as he accepted a glass of Madeira fro
m a tray Borthwick held out to him just then. “Uncle Brian is always telling me I should study harder.”
Jessica noted that Andrew’s words caused Ling Chow to look speculatively at the tall gentleman, but following his glance, she encountered Sir Brian’s smiling eyes and promptly turned her own gaze back to Andrew.
“Where did you encounter Mr. Ling? I believe you suggested he might shed some light on our mystery.”
“Indeed, ma’am,” Andrew agreed, “it was the oddest thing. I have been visiting all the villages hereabouts, you know, hoping to learn something to the purpose—though I don’t mind telling you, I had nearly thrown in the towel—and I was strolling down the street in Mousehole watching the fishermen repairing their nets, when dashed if Mr. Ling and another gentleman didn’t step straight out of the doorway just ahead of me. They seemed to be speaking the same language that Kara speaks, and I thought…well, the fact is, I imposed upon Mr. Ling here to come along to try what he could do.”
“How kind of you,” Jessica said to Ling Chow. Then, turning to Borthwick, who had stepped back after serving the others to stand beside Sir Brian’s chair, she requested that he relay her compliments to Miss Kara and ask her to step down to the garden saloon.
“At once, Miss Jessica.”
She glanced again at Sir Brian, but he was watching Ling Chow, an enigmatic expression on his face. He had not said a word since entering the garden saloon, and she found herself wondering what he thought of this turn of events. Certainly his expression told her nothing at all.
Borthwick brought Kara to them some moments later. They were followed by both Lord and Lady Gordon, who, having heard that a man was present who might be able to communicate with their guest, were all agog to discover whether he might be successful or not. Kara entered the room ahead of them, smiled at Andrew and Jessica, then looked curiously at Ling Chow. The dark man, having been presented to Lord and Lady Gordon, hesitated briefly, glancing at Jessica as if for permission to begin, but then he spoke a few syllables of the same sort of gibberish they had heard from the girl earlier. Kara’s eyes lit up and she took two or three steps toward him, replying in a stream of babble.
“Well, upon my word!” exclaimed Lord Gordon, impressed.
Jessica looked again at Sir Brian. This time he looked back at her, lifting one eyebrow. She smiled. Then, realizing the others had paused in their exchange, she turned to Ling Chow.
“Can you understand her, Mr. Ling?”
“Indeed, missy, but I not know if I believe what I hear.”
“What did she say?” demanded Andrew.
“She say her name Kara Boo. Say also that she a princess.”
“Well, upon my word!”
“A princess! By Jove.” Andrew looked at Kara in awe, then turned his gaze upon his uncle and Jessica in turn. “What do you think about that?”
“Amazing,” said Sir Brian, his tone a trifle dry.
“I vow, I don’t know what to say,” said Lady Gordon in astonishment. “Just think, a real princess in my house.”
“‘Good gracious’ will do for a start,” said Jessica.
“Well, what else did she say?” Andrew said, ignoring the others and regarding Kara with widened eyes.
“She say she come from Javasu, near south of peninsula of Malay. She Malaysian princess, but actually born in China.”
His audience seeming utterly captivated, Ling Chow went on asking questions of the girl and translating. Her tale was that one day while she was walking in her private gardens attended by her women, a number of men from the crew of a pirate vessel had scaled the garden walls, and she had been captured, bound and gagged, and carried off to their ship.
Subsequently she had been sold by the pirates into slavery, first to the captain of a brig, from which ship she had been transferred to another, an American slave ship. There, Ling explained, she had at least found company for a brief period in the society of a few more female slaves, though after five weeks’ cruising, those unfortunates had been sold off at some unknown port. Kara, however, had been kept aboard the slave ship for another three months, suffering untold dangers and indignities, until, nearing land, and preferring death to slavery, she had jumped overboard and swum to shore, where, providentially, Andrew had discovered her, exhausted and near death upon the rocky beach.
“Well, upon my word,” said Lord Gordon for the third time. “Lucky for her young Andrew came along, ain’t it?”
“By Jove,” murmured Andrew in agreement.
“That is truly a remarkable story,” Jessica said. “Tell me, Mr. Ling, did she actually say she has been aboard a slave ship?”
He nodded. “She say that, miss.”
“Pray, ask her what that ship was like. I confess to a rather morbid curiosity about such things.”
Lady Gordon protested that they, none of them, wished to hear the gruesome details, but none of the others supported her, and Jessica persisted. Ling Chow relayed her question, listened to agitated gibberish for some moments, then turned back to Jessica. “She say most unpleasant. Much beatings and suffering. Many women and men with very black skin.”
“But what sort of accommodations had they?” Jessica inquired. “I have heard dreadful tales about the conditions aboard those ships. Ask her if such tales are actually true.”
Again there was a brief exchange of the gibberish. “She say rooms very small and cramped. Women often forced to stay with crew in crew quarters because no room in slave quarters.” He shot an oblique glance at the astounded Andrew, than added, “Princess most fortunate in that she suffer less than most. Manage to protect virtue.”
Andrew’s relief was evident, and the dark man went on, “Last few months she even have room to self.”
“I see.” Jessica regarded Kara steadily. The girl sat quietly, regarding her hands, which were folded in her lap. “It must have been most uncomfortable for her, nonetheless.”
“By Jove, Miss Jessica, that is to put the matter quite mildly indeed,” Andrew said, shoving a hand through his hair. “Imagine the courage it must have taken to jump off a ship like that. She’s damn…that is, she’s dashed fortunate to know how to swim.”
“Indeed, she is,” Jessica agreed. “She seems to be very tired now, as well,” she added when the “princess” yawned delicately behind one hand. “Perhaps Mrs. Borthwick—”
“Nonsense,” interposed Lord Gordon. “Georgeanne shall take her up herself. A real princess oughtn’t to be relegated to the housekeeper’s care. Where on earth have your manners gone begging, Jessica?”
She apologized, being careful not to meet Sir Brian’s eye. A few moments later, both Lord and Lady Gordon had gone off with their guest, and Andrew agreed immediately when his uncle suggested that he might like to escort Ling Chow back to Mousehole. Within moments afterward Jessica found herself alone in the garden saloon with Sir Brian.
“I believe,” he said musingly, “that we should all learn to trust the instincts of a good butler. They are generally infallible. Though I suspect,” he added, his eyes twinkling, “that after that little display you find the Princess Kara Boo from Javasu as difficult to swallow as I do.”
She looked up at him. “Well, I am nearly certain she is a fraud, but I said nothing for I am persuaded that Cyril will not listen to me. It was the slave ship, you see.”
“Ah, I confess I wondered what tipped you off, considering your lamentable lack of proper grounding in geography. Did you never learn the use of globes in your schoolroom, my girl?”
“No, only our sister Madeleine was ever interested in such stuff. I’m afraid Georgie and I are both disgustingly insular. I collect, however, that Malay is not in or near China?”
“Not noticeably, I’m afraid.” He grinned. “The slender peninsula our Ling Chow mentioned so glibly is, if anything, part of Siam. Malay is a small country at the very tip of that peninsula and is actually much nearer Borneo and Sumatra than China. What mistake did she make about the slave ship?”
“They are nothing like what she described, I fear. I once saw a model of one that the Duke of Grosvenor possesses, you see. The slaves, hundreds of them, are chained together and forced to lie stretched out next to each other in dark, dreadful holding areas between decks. There is not room even to walk amongst them, the duke said, and the filth is unimaginable. If Kara had been exposed to anything at all like that, she must have mentioned it, don’t you agree?”
“Indeed.” He regarded her searchingly for a moment or two, and she thought he was about to say something more about the slave ship or perhaps ask something about her association with the Africa Institute, but he did not. Instead he said, “We seem to have a small problem.”
“What shall we do, sir? Neither Cyril nor Andrew will take our word against hers and Mr. Ling’s unless we can provide them with irrefutable evidence. Cyril has no great opinion of the Africa Institute, you know. He thinks my Aunt Susan is nothing but a mischief-maker bluestocking, and he will never believe that I can know more about any subject than he does himself. And Andrew is completely taken in by that girl. He thinks she’s wonderful and beautiful and—”
“In a word, the boy is smitten,” Sir Brian inserted dryly.
“Yes, he is, and he is very young,” she pointed out.
“He’ll age. The important thing now is to expose those two. I wonder what the purpose is behind all this nonsense?”
“You suspect they are confederates? I suppose it is rather odd to have two persons here on our own little peninsula who speak Malaysian.”
“If it is Malaysian. I suspect that it is no more than the gibberish it sounds like, and there are not two persons, my dear, but three. Remember, Andrew said he overheard two men talking. There may be even more.” He frowned a little, thinking. “I believe our best course is to keep our counsel until I can manage a thorough investigation into the matter.”
“Should I not speak to Andrew?”
“And say what? If he can believe that a wench with brown hair and hazel eyes is a Chinese Malaysian princess, such small facts as we might present to him of geography and ship’s architecture will scarcely influence his thinking. With any luck he will become disenchanted with the girl herself before we are forced to disillusion him.”
The Battling Bluestocking Page 7