66 The Love Pirate

by Barbara Cartland

  In his anxiety not to compromise her in any way he had not singled her out or talked privately with her until Alexandria was far behind them and they were halfway down the Red Sea.

  Then he had learnt that she had a habit of slipping away from the crowds just as he himself always liked to do.

  He would find her hidden in some isolated part of the deck where few other people went and she rose very early in the morning when there were only health enthusiasts about intent on taking exercise.

  It was then that he talked to her and found her extremely intelligent and at the same time mentally very humble.

  The few women of his acquaintance who had brains were so keen on showing them off and parading them that they became almost intolerable in the superiority they claimed over what they considered ‘the mere male’.

  Bertilla would ask him questions, her grey eyes wide and serious as she listened to what he had to tell her.

  And he knew that she stored what she learnt in her mind, adding to the knowledge she had already accumulated from the books in the library and those he had bought for her in Alexandria.

  He had had the books sent to her cabin so that no one should know that he had made her a present of them and Bertilla had been wise enough not to thank him publicly.

  But he received a little note written in a neat upright handwriting, most unlike the scrawling flowery lettering typical of the correspondence he usually received from women.

  Bertilla was, he noticed now, very plainly dressed as she had been all through the voyage.

  But her gown of cheap muslin became her in a manner he could not explain, but which he thought must be attributed to a natural elegance, which would make anything she wore seem attractive.

  “I wonder,” he asked aloud, “whether I would be happy living permanently in this part of the world, even if I had the position and authority of Sir Stamford Raffles.”

  “You might become a White Rajah like Sir Charles Brooke,” Bertilla suggested.

  Lord Saire was aware that her mind was permanently on the place she was journeying to and which would be her home perhaps for the rest of her life.

  He had told her about the romance of Sarawak and that, because its Ruler was a White Rajah, Sir Charles Brooke, it had a unique place in history.

  He told Bertilla, far more excitingly than any book could have done, how the first White Rajah, James Brooke, in reward for his services in helping to crush a rebellion had been nominated Rajah of Sarawak in 1841 by the Sultan of Borneo and now his nephew had succeeded him.

  “The people are a very happy and very pleasant race,” he told Bertilla.

  “But – they are headhunters!”

  “I think the White Rajahs have done a great deal to suppress that very deplorable custom,” he said with a smile, “but the Dyaks are gentle, honest, and touchingly kind. Their women too are beautiful and completely fearless.”

  “Is headhunting part of their religion?” Bertilla asked.

  “They worship no Gods except a long-dead hero and they have no Priests and no religious ceremonies”

  “Then why, if they are so happy – ?”

  She stopped speaking, but Lord Saire knew what she had been about to say.

  “Wherever the British establish their rule, the Missionaries follow,” he explained. “They believe they are appointed by God to convert people of other nationalities into Christians whether they like it or not.”

  There was a cynical note in his voice that told Bertilla he did not believe in such proselytising, and after a moment she asked him,

  “Do you believe that someone who is not a Christian cannot go to Heaven?”

  “Good Lord, no!” Lord Saire replied. “Besides, if there is such a place as Heaven, I am quite certain that there is a large number of different ones.”

  She smiled as he went on,

  “A Heaven for the Christians, Nirvana for the Buddhists and a very alluring Paradise filled with beautiful women for the Mohammedans! I am sure too the Dyaks have a special place where they can collect any number of heads without hurting anyone!”

  Bertilla laughed.

  “That is exactly what I want to believe. But I am sure religion is a private affair and very personal and therefore if people are happy it is wrong to interfere.”

  He felt that, although she was saying this to him, she would find it difficult to say the same thing to her aunt when she reached Sarawak and, because it was impossible for him not to know how much she dreaded the end of her journey, he said kindly,

  “Forget the future and enjoy today.”

  “That is what I have been doing all the time on this fascinating voyage. At night when there is phosphorus on the waves I feel as if the ship is enchanted and we shall go on sailing in her forever and never, never to come to Port.”

  “It’s a nice idea in theory,” Lord Saire smiled, “but can you imagine how bored we should all become with each other? And how bitterly a large number of the people would be quarrelling on their second time round the world.”

  Bertilla laughed.

  “That is true,” she agreed. “Lady Ellenton and Lady Sandford both became so irritable at the whist table last night that they are not speaking this morning.”

  “The only way that your enchanted ship could be a happy one,” Lord Saire said, “is if there was no one aboard but yourself and perhaps one other person who wished to be with you.”

  “If I had the choice, it would be very difficult to know who would be the right companion for eternity,” Bertilla answered seriously.

  Lord Saire smiled to himself.

  There was no doubt that if he had suggested the same idea to any other woman of his acquaintance, the answer would automatically have been that she would be completely content if she was with him.

  But he knew that Bertilla, puzzling things out in her mind, was completely honest and unselfconscious when she talked to him.

  That was why he liked being with her, he told himself, and had found it difficult on several occasions during the last few days not to seek her out.

  “Are there many wild animals in Malaya?” she asked him now.

  “Quite a number,” he answered. “Any planter will tell you that tigers are often a serious menace to his labourers and so are leopards.”

  “And there are monkeys?”

  “The long tailed macaque monkey will amuse you and so will the flying squirrels.”

  “I hope I may have a chance of seeing them when I am in Singapore,” Bertilla said, “but, of course, it all depends on when the steamer leaves for Sarawak.”

  “You shall see them if it is possible for me to arrange a trip up country,” Lord Saire promised.

  He saw Bertilla’s grey eyes light up.

  “I would love that!” she enthused. “It would be wonderful if I could go with you because you know everything and can tell me everything I want to hear.”

  Then she added quickly, before he could reply,

  “But – I don’t wish to impose upon you – I know how busy you will be when you reach Singapore – and you have been so kind to me already.”

  “I am only glad I was able to help you, Bertilla.”

  “Lady Sandford has been very kind and I have enjoyed every moment of the voyage after Alexandria.”

  She looked up at him with her grey eyes before she said,

  “In case I don’t get another opportunity, thank you – thank you – very much indeed for – everything!”

  “I have already told you, Bertilla, that I don’t wish to be thanked.”

  “But there is no other way I can express my gratitude.”

  “I hope – ” he began and then stopped.

  What was the point of saying conventionally that he hoped this child would be happy in the future when, if all he suspected about her aunt was true, it would be nothing of the sort?

  There was something very sensitive about her, he thought, as she stood looking at the coastline.

  The idea of he
r spending years tending to native children or struggling to make converts to the Christian faith was, he decided, a crime against nature.

  Only someone as heartless and selfish as Lady Alvinston could have decided to inflict such an existence on her only daughter.

  But there was, Lord Saire told himself, nothing he could do about it and at least Bertilla would have the happiness of this journey to look back on.

  Bertilla was actually thinking the same.

  ‘I could never forget him,’ she told herself, ‘and I shall always remember his kindness, the sound of his voice and the expression on his handsome face.’

  She was sure that she would never again see a man so handsome and who had so much presence and air of consequence.

  ‘Of course he could do what Sir Stamford Raffles did,’ she thought, ‘and perhaps do it better. He could lead and command and men would always be ready to follow him because he would inspire them.’

  She could understand why women found him irresistible and fell hopelessly in love with him.

  When she lay awake in the darkness of the night, she would sometimes wonder to herself what he said to them when he made love and what it would be like to be kissed by him. Then she would blush at her thoughts.

  Yet it was impossible when she saw him not to feel her heart leap and now, because he was standing close beside her, she felt a strange feeling within her breast and a sudden thrill because their elbows, resting on the railing, touched each other.

  Lord Saire did not stay with her long and, as she heard his footsteps receding down the deck, Bertilla felt as if her heart went with him.

  The day after tomorrow, early in the morning, the ship would dock in Singapore Harbour.

  He would say goodbye to her and, although he had said that he would try to arrange for her to see the country, she felt that once surrounded by important officials and dignitaries awaiting him at Singapore he would forget about her.

  ‘There will also be beautiful women,’ Bertilla told herself. ‘Perhaps he will find them as attractive as he found Lady Gertrude and – Mrs. Murray?’

  She had not actually seen Mrs. Murray because she left the ship at Alexandria, but she had heard a great deal about her from Lady Ellenton and the attraction she had for Lord Saire lost nothing in the telling.

  And there was Daisy, whoever she might be, and a number of other names that kept cropping up in the conversation when the women on the ship talked about Lord Saire, as if there was no other subject as interesting.

  Even the inevitable gossip about the Prince of Wales and the innumerable ladies who attracted him was not so interesting as the love affairs of Lord Saire, because they could actually see him and eulogise over his undoubted personal attractions,

  Bertilla listened to everything that was said and it did not detract in any way from her admiration for her benefactor.

  In fact it added to what she already felt about him.

  ‘How could it be expected,’ she asked herself, ‘that any man who was so handsome and so irresistibly alluring would not be pursued by women? And because he was human he would obviously find them attractive too.’

  It never struck her for one moment that he might be interested in her.

  She thought of herself as insignificant and inconspicuous, while Lord Saire existed in a world that she could never enter.

  She was only grateful, like a beggar at his gate, for the crumbs of kindness he might throw her. In her mind he embodied all the heroes of her dreams and those she had read about in her books.

  As the sun began to sink, the air grew a little cooler, although it was still very hot.

  The majority of passengers were far too lazy to rise from their deckchairs even to look at the coast they were steaming along.

  There were mango swamps and mud flats, rocky shores and coral reefs, whilst everything else seemed to be covered with trees.

  Some of these were heavy with fruit, others flowering spectacularly in brilliant colours, which made Bertilla long to see them from close to.

  She changed into her evening gown and then hearing the bugle-call, which preceded every meal, she went down to dinner, glancing as she entered the Saloon at the table where Lord Saire always sat alone.

  The comfort of the First Class Saloon was very different from the cramped communal tables at which the passengers ate in the Second Class.

  Here everyone was provided with a comfortable armchair, there were potted plants to decorate the corners of the room and the band played softly, which gave an irresistible air of gaiety.

  The linen-draped tables, the shining cutlery and the bearded Stewards who waited silently and most efficiently, were all luxuries that Bertilla realised that she would never enjoy again.

  Because they were coming to the end of the voyage, everyone seemed a little more animated than they had been during the heat of the last weeks.

  Attractive women like Lady Ellenton had put on their more elaborate gowns and their jewels glittered in the electric light.

  When dinner was finished, Lady Sandford accepted an invitation to play whist and Bertilla sat for a little while in the Saloon reading a book.

  She was longing to go out on deck, but she knew that it would not be considered correct for her to go alone.

  She therefore decided that she would pretend to go to bed, but later, when Lady Sandford and most of the older passengers had retired, she would slip out.

  She wanted to look at the phosphorus on the water and the starlight gleaming over the dark trees of the mainland.

  There was something mysterious and exciting about Malaya, Bertilla thought, and, if tonight and tomorrow she defied the conventions, what did it matter?

  Once she was in Sarawak she would never see any of these people again.

  She therefore bade Lady Sandford goodnight and went to her cabin, not to undress but to sit in a chair reading until she should hear everyone on her passage retiring for the night.

  It was not long before she heard doors opening and shutting and cheery voices telling one another, “sleep well!” and “see you in the morning!”

  Bertilla looked at her watch.

  It was just after midnight and by now both Lord and Lady Sandford would have retired.

  It was so warm that she knew she would not need a coat over her evening gown, but she took a soft chiffon scarf from the drawer.

  It was one of the things Dawkins had given her from among the ‘bits and pieces’ that belonged to her mother and she had found nearly all of them very useful.

  There were lengths of laces, which she had attached to her new gowns and sashes in different colours so that she could ring the changes and make a dress she had worn several times look different.

  There were even artificial silk flowers that she could pin onto the bodice of one of the plainer evening gowns she had made herself to dress it up a little.

  She draped the chiffon scarf over her shoulders and looked at herself in the mirror to see if her hair was tidy.

  Perhaps, although she dared not count on it, Lord Saire would join her when she was on the top deck as he had done once or twice before.

  Then, because she heard noise outside which seemed to be growing louder and louder, she opened the door of her cabin and was instantly aware that the passageway was filled with smoke.

  She must have gasped with surprise, because in an instant she was coughing and her eyes began to smart.

  Hurriedly she ran towards the main landing on which the Purser’s Office was situated and, when she reached it, she found it crowded with people coming not only from the cabins on the First Class deck but also up the stairs from below.

  She saw that a number of them were Chinese, Malayan and Indian and she thought they were being driven up because the fire must be in the bowels of the ship.

  “Fire!”

  “Fire!”

  The Stewards were still shouting the word and now the crew were trying to assemble people into some sort of order on deck.

 
“Go to the boat-stations!”

  “Go to the boat-stations!”

  Instructions were repeated over and over again.

  It was then, as she was being carried along by the sheer pressure of people on either side of her towards a door opening onto the deck, that Bertilla saw ascending the stairs the dark head of Mr. Van de Kaempfer.

  Instinctively, because she was afraid of him, she fought her way out of the stream surging onto the decks towards the boats and hid herself in the coffee room.

  It was situated on one side of the Purser’s Office and was, she saw at a glance, deserted.

  She could see through the large portholes what was occurring on deck and she thought there was no hurry.

  If she kept her head and waited, Mr. Van de Kaempfer would go off in one of the first boats and she would not come in contact with him.

  The boats were being lowered one after another and the ship’s Officers were assisting the women and children into them and seeing that there were also sufficient men to man the oars.

  It was all quite orderly and for the moment no one was panicking, although some of the children were crying and their mothers looked white and anxious.

  The noise was shattering, not only from the orders being given by the crew at the tops of their voices but also because the ship’s sirens were sounding and the bells were ringing.

  Through the portholes of the coffee room Bertilla could see that two or three of the boats had drawn away from the ship and in the fading light were moving into the darkness which covered the shore.

  ‘One good thing is that the mainland is not far away,’ she told herself, ‘so the boats do not have very far to go.’

  Everything was happening very quickly, but there still seemed to be people coming up from the lower decks.

  Now she heard what sounded like a small explosion and it shook the whole vessel.

  ‘I must get out and find myself a place in a boat,’ she decided.

  But she had a great reluctance to join the crowd on deck. It seemed safer and less frightening where she was.

  Then she saw Lord Saire.