66 The Love Pirate

by Barbara Cartland

  He was still wearing his evening clothes, so she knew that he too had not gone to bed.

  Like the ship’s Officers, he was directing passengers into the boats, speaking sharply to one man who tried to push in front of an elderly woman.

  He was calm and unhurried and Bertilla thought, as she watched him, that he stood out amongst everyone else.

  She felt that the people he spoke to trusted him, as she did, and had confidence that he would see them to safety.

  She was so busy watching him as he worked a little way farther down the deck that she was suddenly aware that directly outside the coffee room everyone had gone.

  The deck was clear and the Officers who had been herding the passengers into the boats were no longer there.

  ‘I must go!’ Bertilla thought.

  Now she was aware that the ship was listing a little and she had to walk uphill to reach the door.

  She went out on deck and as she did so an Officer appeared to say almost angrily,

  “Where have you been, madam? All the other ladies have been got away!”

  He took her arm and hurried her down to a boat, which was just being filled and, as they reached it, Lord Saire turned and saw her.

  “Bertilla!” he exclaimed. “I thought you had gone long ago!”

  He lifted her up in his arms as he spoke and put her into the boat.

  As he did so, she saw that behind him flames were coming out of the portholes of the Saloon and the smoke made it almost impossible to see the rest of the ship.

  “I think that is everybody,” the Officer said to Lord Saire. “Please get in, my Lord.”

  Lord Saire obeyed and the Officer jumped into the boat after him and it was lowered away.

  Only as they reached the sea below did Bertilla see that the whole stern of the ship was on fire.

  “Pull away! Pull away!” she heard the Officer shout.

  As the men on the oars obeyed him, there was a sudden explosion inside the ship and the whole vessel lurched with the impact of it.

  Flames glowing vividly red and gold seemed to shoot up towards the sky and then the Coromandel listed to starboard and began to sink lower and lower into the water.

  “She’s sinking!” a man in the boat growled.

  “There’s nothing we can do about it,” another replied.

  “Make for the shore,” the Officer ordered.

  Bertilla realised that it was farther away than it had seemed when they were on board and from water level the darkness of the trees seemed a long way off.

  It was growing so dark that, although they could hear them, it was difficult to distinguish the other boats making, as they were, for the mainland.

  Lord Saire moved along the boat to come and sit beside Bertilla.

  “Are you all right?” he asked in a concerned voice.

  She was so glad that he was with her that for a moment she could think of nothing else and then she answered,

  “Quite all – right! What – happened?”

  “I think there must have been an explosion in the engine room which got out of hand,” Lord Saire answered, “but I doubt if we shall ever know exactly what occurred.”

  He looked to where in a blaze of glory, the flames leaping higher than its masts, the Coromandel was going down to oblivion.

  “Lord and Lady Sandford are safe?” Bertilla enquired.

  “I saw them off myself,” Lord Saire answered. “Why were you not with them?”

  “The crowds were so pressing,” she replied, “and I thought it was foolish to be in a hurry.”

  “You might have left it too late.”

  He glanced again towards the burning ship.

  Bertilla could not say that she had been watching him and had known instinctively that if he was there she would be in no danger.

  The men at the oars were moving the boat at a good pace and now they could see ahead of them glittering lights on what must be the shoreline.

  “Where will we land? What will happen to us when we reach the shore?” Bertilla asked.

  As if he noticed the sudden nervousness in her voice, Lord Saire turned to smile at her.

  “We shall be quite safe,” he assured her. “The Malayans are very friendly and, as we are so close to Singapore, there is sure to be someone who will give us a bed for the night.”

  He spoke confidently and unexpectedly he put out his hand to take hers.

  “You are not afraid, are you?” he asked.

  “Not when I am with – you,” Bertilla replied.

  His fingers seemed to tighten on hers and after a moment she said with a touch of laughter in her voice,

  “You are rescuing me for the third time – but at least on this occasion it is not my – fault!”

  “Which is doubtless very satisfactory,” Lord Saire said and she knew he was smiling in the darkness.

  The Officer gave orders to beach the boat.

  The men who were rowing slipped their oars and several of them sprang out to drag the boat a little way up the stony beach.

  Passengers from the other boats were already ashore and they could hear their voices in the distance.

  A number of Malayans, naked to the waist, appeared, holding, as Bertilla had thought, lanterns, although some had flaming torches.

  She waited beside Lord Saire, making no movement until everyone else had stepped onto the beach and the boat was empty. Then he helped her over the thwarts and the ship’s Officer lifted her out.

  The natives with the lanterns were chattering away in a strange language, which Bertilla knew must be Malayan.

  A number of passengers who were with them seemed to be able to understand and even speak it.

  Chinese passengers were making themselves understood in their own language.

  It was now that Bertilla realised she had been the only woman in the boat.

  “I think, my Lord,” the ship’s Officer said to Lord Saire, “these people will find some sort of refuge for yourself and the lady.”

  As if in answer to his remark, a native speaking halting English said beside them,

  “I take – you place – where you – sleep for night.”

  “Is there a house belonging to a European near here?” Lord Saire enquired.

  “I will ask him,” the Officer said.

  He spoke in Malayan and the native replied with a flow of language.

  “He says,” the Officer interpreted when the man beside him paused for breath, “that the nearest house of any importance where a white man lives is only a mile away if you go through the forest. He will lead you there, but he expects to be paid.”

  “He will be paid,” Lord Saire replied. “Ask him the name of the owner of the house.”

  The Officer obliged and then said,

  “The man says the name, as far as I can make out, is something like Henderson.”

  “That is excellent!” Lord Saire exclaimed. “I know him! Tell the man to guide us through the forest and he will be well rewarded for it.”

  The Officer looked up at the dark trees towering above them.

  “Do you think you will be all right, my Lord?”

  “I hope so,” Lord Saire answered. “I know these forests are supposed to be almost impenetrable, but the natives always have their own paths.”

  “That is true,” the Officer agreed, “but you might be wiser to wait until daylight.”

  “I think we will risk it,” Lord Saire answered.

  As if he felt he had been impolite, he said to Bertilla,

  “That is, if you agree.”

  “Yes – of course,” she answered.

  The Officer explained in Malayan what was required and, holding his candle lantern at his side, their guide set off up the beach.

  They followed him and, when they stepped from the shingle, they were immediately in the forest.

  The huge trees grew right down to the shore and against the sky they seemed very dark and rather frightening.

  The Malayan walked ahe
ad, twisting and turning between the trunks of the trees and somehow avoiding the thick shrubs and climbers that appeared to encircle everything.

  As if Lord Saire realised it would give Bertilla confidence and because whatever happened they must not be separated, he reached out and took her hand, leading her as if she was a child.

  Her fingers clung to his.

  Then, as they left the sea behind, all she could see was the light of the lantern and the glimpses it gave her of the trunks and leaves and blossoms and ferns.

  They walked slowly and now Bertilla was aware of what someone had written in a book she had read about Malaya, ‘the lovely forest perfumes of night.’

  It was a fragrance like nothing she had ever smelt before and which she knew came from the trees themselves, from their blossoms and the flowers that filled the undergrowth.

  On and on they walked and because there was a certain eeriness about it Bertilla felt herself listening.

  She could hear the movements of small animals in the undergrowth, the flutter of wings above them as they disturbed birds that had gone to roost or were perhaps a flying squirrel, which she had longed to see.

  She wondered if the monkeys were watching their progress or if perhaps there were even tigers lurking in the darkness.

  Her fingers must have tightened instinctively on Lord Saire’s, for he stopped for a moment to ask,

  “You are all right? We are not going too fast?”

  “No, I am quite – all right,” Bertilla answered.

  “You are not frightened?”

  “Not with you – but I would be – alone.”

  “I will protect you,” he said lightly, “but I am afraid that the only weapon I have with me is my two bare hands.”

  “Not very effective against a tiger.”

  “I am sure our guide could deal with that,” Lord Saire replied.

  He glanced at the man ahead of them as he spoke and Bertilla saw in the light of the lantern that the Malayan carried a primitive spear in his right hand.

  “You see? We have an armed guard!” Lord Saire smiled.

  She knew he was reassuring her and he realised without her telling him that she found the forest ominous and eerie.

  She thought how terrified she would have been of the fire on board if Lord Saire had not been with her. Worst of all, Mr. Van de Kaempfer might have appointed himself her protector.

  But she was safe with her hand in Lord Saire’s and she thought how lucky she was. What was more she was alone with him, as she had never expected to be.

  “After all,” she said aloud, “this is a very exciting adventure and perhaps one day it will be recounted in your biography.”

  “You are still envisaging that I shall become famous enough to deserve one.”

  “Of course you will!” she said. “Perhaps they will relate how you walked in the Malayan jungle and killed a tiger with your bare hands – thereby saving a great number of people from an untimely death.”

  He laughed and the sound seemed to ring out in the silence of the forest.

  “You are determined to make a hero of me,” he said, “and, as it is a position I rather enjoy, I shall not try to prevent you.”

  As he spoke, the trees began to thin and a moment later they saw lights ahead of them.

  “Henderson – House!” their guide said, pointing with his finger.

  Now he started to move quicker as if anxious to receive the money that had been promised to him.

  As they drew nearer, Bertilla could see that the house was a very large bungalow with a sloping roof of green tiles.

  Although it was late at night, there seemed to be lights in almost every window and, as they reached the garden, she saw a long veranda running the whole length of the house.

  Bertilla wondered if there was a party in progress and she suddenly felt self-conscious about her appearance.

  She was still wearing the simple gown she had worn for dinner and had the chiffon scarf over her shoulders.

  But her hair had caught in the branches of the trees as they walked through the forest and she suspected that the hem of her gown was stained and her slippers dirtied by the grasses of the forest path.

  She looked at Lord Saire and thought that in his evening clothes he might have just stepped out of a London ballroom.

  ‘I hope he is not ashamed of me,’ she thought.

  Then they were on the veranda and their guide was hammering loudly on an open door.

  There was the sound of voices inside the house and she heard someone say,

  “Who on earth can it be at this hour of the night?”

  Then a man in a white suit with grey hair and a sunburnt face appeared at the door, carrying a glass in his hand.

  Lord Saire moved forward.

  “Mr. Henderson!” he exclaimed. “We have not met for some years, but I am Lord Saire. The ship in which I was due to arrive in Singapore has just sunk in the Malacca Straits.”

  “Good God!” Mr. Henderson ejaculated and, quickly putting out his hand, he added, “Of course I remember you, Lord Saire. We met with the Governor. Did you say your ship has sunk?”

  “The Coromandel has gone down in flames, but everyone aboard has been saved.”

  “Well, thank heavens for that!” Mr. Henderson exclaimed. “Do come in!”

  “May I introduce Miss Bertilla Alvinston, a fellow passenger,” Lord Saire said.

  Bertilla put out her hand and Mr. Henderson shook it heartily.

  Lord Saire turned back to give their guide several gold coins, then they were being taken into a long comfortable sitting room where there were six other people sitting about and drinking.

  Mrs. Henderson was a plump, smiling, middle-aged woman who exuded good-humour and kindness with every breath she drew.

  The guests were obviously planters like their host.

  They plied Lord Saire with questions and made horrified exclamations as he explained what had happened.

  “Where will everybody else have gone?” Mrs. Henderson asked.

  “There are a number of houses where they could be accommodated,” her husband replied, “the Franklin’s, the Watson’s, they’re all as near to the sea as we are.”

  “I daresay most of the passengers would be too nervous to walk through the forest at night,” Lord Saire said. “When I asked which was the nearest house, they told me it was yours and I therefore took the risk of coming to you in the dark.”

  “I’m very glad you did,” Mrs. Henderson smiled.

  She rang for servants who produced food and drink for Lord Saire and Bertilla.

  There was so much talk and so much excitement over their arrival that it was only after they had been there an hour that Bertilla began to feel sleepy.

  Mrs. Henderson noticed it.

  “What you need, my dear, is a good night’s sleep.”

  “I am afraid we possess nothing but what we stand up in,” Lord Saire said before Bertilla could answer.

  “We can provide you with everything,” Mrs. Henderson said, “and you know as well as I do, Lord Saire, that our tailors in Singapore are the quickest in the world. We’ll have you both fitted out with new clothes as good as anything you can buy in London within twenty-four hours.”

  “I hope you are right,” Lord Saire said. “I have no desire to call on the Governor in evening dress!”

  “We’ll not let you down,” Mrs. Henderson promised.

  But as Bertilla followed her to where she could sleep, she could not help wondering how she would be able to pay for her clothes with the very little money she had with her.

  *

  Bertilla awoke to find the sun pouring in through the windows of the very attractive bedroom that looked out over the garden.

  As she went to the window, she was excited at seeing great beds of orchids for the first time in her life.

  She had seen her mother going out to dinner wearing orchids on her shoulder and a bride carrying them at a fashionable wedding.

&nbs
p; But never had she expected to see thousands of them in every colour, growing in flowerbeds and to know that if her guidebook was right they also grew wild all over the country.

  She was wondering if she would be obliged to put on her evening dress to go down to breakfast when a maid appeared with a gown.

  It belonged, she was told, to Mrs. Henderson’s daughter and it fitted perfectly, except it was a little too large round the waist.

  It was much more expensive and attractive than any of Bertilla’s gowns and, having arranged her hair, she hoped that Lord Saire would not be ashamed of her.

  When she was ready, she went somewhat shyly towards the veranda where she was told her host and hostess would be breakfasting.

  She found that Lord Saire, like herself, had borrowed some day clothes and in a white tussore suit he looked somehow different.

  “We’ve already sent to Singapore for tailors,” Mrs. Henderson said after she had greeted Bertilla, “and all you have to do now is to go shopping without having to enter a shop. I must say it’s one of the luxuries I enjoy most about living in the East.”

  “I am afraid I cannot – afford anything at all expensive,” Bertilla said, remembering that she had to pay her hotel accommodation before she left for Sarawak.

  “If you are worried about that,” Lord Saire said, “I am quite certain we shall all be fully compensated for what we have lost by the Steamship Company.”

  He smiled at her encouragingly and added,

  “The only trouble is that we shall have to wait during all the arguments there will be over the insurance, so in the meantime, Bertilla, you must allow me to be your banker.”

  “It is very – kind of you,” Bertilla replied, “but – ”

  She thought it would be difficult to explain in front of the other people present that she did not wish to once again be an encumbrance upon him.

  But before she could speak, Mrs. Henderson interposed,

  “Now you’re not to worry about little things like that, Lord Saire. I am going to look after Miss Alvinston – or rather, Bertilla – if she will allow me. It’s a long time since I have had the pleasure of dressing a daughter. Mine has been married for five years, so this is going to be my welcome present to a new visitor to Singapore.”

  Bertilla tried to protest, but Mrs. Henderson swept all her arguments to one side.