“Yes ... yes ... quite all right,” she answered.
Lord Hawkston mounted the other horse.
“We may as well start. Gerald can catch us up.”
“Will he know where to come?” Dominica enquired.
“I imagine so.”
They rode off taking the path that wound its way down the hillside into a valley below.
Lord Hawkston set the pace and the horses moved slowly.
Dominica began to get her confidence back, but a full-grown horse was rather different from the pony she had ridden as a child.
She remembered how she had longed to enter for the Gymkhana which was one of the annual amusements of the other children in Colombo, but her father had never allowed it, even though her mother pleaded with him.
“You can attend if you have nothing better to do,” he conceded grudgingly.
But he had not allowed them to compete, even though Dominica had known there were several competitions which either she or Faith could have won.
Now she wondered if such deprivations had made them better people in any way, or indeed better Christians.
Why should religion always be so gloomy, so austere?
Why must laughter and happiness always be frowned on by the God her father worshipped?
Then she forgot to be introspective because Lord Hawkston was explaining to her about the tea.
“Tea is the one crop which can be picked six days out of seven all the year round,” he told her, “with the exception of two or three of the great Hindu festivals.”
Before they reached the coolies working amongst the tea-plants Dominica could already hear them.
“The Tamils are noisy and very often quarrelsome,” Lord Hawkston said as she looked at him as if for explanation. “But they are good workers.”
They drew nearer and Dominica could see that the tea-pluckers had large round bamboo baskets slung onto their backs by means of a rope which passed around their foreheads.
The women wore gaily coloured cloths wound Grecian fashion across their breasts, and round their heads, padded where they took the strain of the rope on their foreheads, they wore a headcloth like a turban.
In green, red, gold or white the effect of a hundred or more pluckers waist-high in greenery was, Dominica thought, very picturesque.
She was fascinated by the speed and skill with which the women picked the ripe leaves—always two and a bud—gathering them in small heaps in the hand, then throwing them with a lithe, quick jerk over their shoulders into the waiting basket.
“The supervision of the work is in the hands of the men,” Lord Hawkston explained. “They are called kanganies, or overseers.”
There was a faint smile on his lips as he looked at them and it was with difficulty that Dominica prevented herself from laughing.
The insignia of their rank was usually an ancient European-type jacket, a turban and an umbrella—a high sign of superiority—caught in the collar of the coat and hanging down their backs.
“Four times a day,” Lord Hawkston went on, “the leaf is carefully weighed, each plucker’s tally being entered in a small account book by the kannackapiller.”
He looked at the pluckers with an expression of pride in his eyes.
“There is never any cheating. If the accounts are challenged, the coolies’ recording, for they know exactly how much they have picked, can be accepted as completely accurate.”
Everyone seemed to be very happy and it was impossible not to notice how delighted many of the coolies were to see Lord Hawkston.
There was a note of pleasure in their voices when he talked to them and Dominica was sure that they had a genuine fondness for him.
It was very different when a little while later Gerald came trotting up to them.
He was looking hot and the perspiration was running down his face.
With what Dominica thought was an effort to impress his Uncle he dismounted and walked round to the pluckers finding fault with their work and speaking to them in a tone of voice which made her instinctively grip the reins tighter.
No-one answered back; everyone went on working; but Dominica was sure they resented Gerald’s hectoring manner, the loudness with which he gave orders, and his whole attitude of arrogant superiority.
They watched the weighing of the tea outside a store which, Lord Hawkston told Dominica, had originally been built for coffee.
All too soon it seemed to Dominica time passed, and they rode back along a different route towards the house.
Gerald was blustering and making long and garbled explanations as to why the tea production had fallen in the last year.
He blamed the coolies, the overseers, the weather, the plants themselves, while in fact, Dominica was sure, it was all a cover-up for his own inadequacy.
Lord Hawkston said little but she knew that he was feeling disappointed and upset that the plantation he had left in such excellent condition, thriving and improving month by month, should have gone backwards instead of forwards and would undoubtedly show a financial deficit instead of a profit.
After a time when his words evoked no response from his Uncle, Gerald’s voice ceased, and Dominica was glad to ride in silence and look at the beauty all around her.
She was fascinated to see that where the country had not been cultivated the jungle was even more beautiful than she had imagined it could be.
There were varieties of immense feathery bamboos, and she noticed low down in the valley giant fern trees rising sometimes to a height of more than twenty feet.
Almost everywhere in the thick undergrowth there was the vivid blue of the nelu in a great sheet of colour, and besides the magnolias there were myrtles and various varieties of camellia.
When she was looking at one, entranced by the perfect wax-like blossoms, Lord Hawkston followed the direction of her eyes and said:
“You know of course that the tea-plant is a cousin of the camellia?”
“No, I did not know that,” Dominica answered, “but now that you mention it, they do look rather similar.”
“Let me show you something even more beautiful,” he said.
They rode on for a little distance and then he pointed to the katu-imbul or silk-cotton tree.
Dominica had seen one in the gardens in Colombo, but here there were a dozen of them growing wild and the glorious trumpet-like petals were in an almost crazy profusion.
The ground beneath the trees was carpeted thick with petals like a crimson rug, and the branches of the tree grew out at right angles from the bore like the yards of a ship.
It was so lovely that she could hardly bear to leave it behind and ride on but she told herself that whatever happened she must come again before the blossom finished.
They reached the house and Lord Hawkston said as he lifted her down from the saddle:
“You may think we have returned early, but here as men breakfast soon after dawn it is usual for the midday meal to be at noon.”
“Whatever the time is,” Dominica said with a smile, “I am hungry!”
That was true because she had been unable to eat any breakfast as Gerald Warren had upset her.
Now she tried to tell herself she was being stupid and ultrafastidious. He was Lord Hawkston’s nephew, and she must try to understand him.
‘He is feeling awkward, as I am, about ... the arrangements that have been made for us,’ she thought.
It sounded reassuring and sensible, but she knew that inside she shrank with every nerve in her body from the idea that she should mean anything to this hard-drinking young man, or he to her.
After luncheon Lord Hawkston insisted that Dominica should rest.
“It is always a mistake to do too much on the first day,” he said. “The height, although one does not realise it, affects one after coming up from sea-level. Besides, Gerald and I are going for a long ride which will be too much for you.”
She was disappointed, but she could not help knowing he was being wise. In fact when s
he went to her room she lay down on the bed meaning to read one of the many books she had found waiting for her, but fell asleep.
She had not slept the night before, and now she slept peacefully to find when she awoke that it was six o’clock in the evening.
“You should have wakened me,” she told the servant when she rang for him to find out the exact time.
“Durai say you should sleep, Nona,” he replied. “You like bath?”
“Thank you,” Dominica said.
By the time she had had her bath it was getting on for seven o’clock and she put on one of the pretty evening gowns which Madame Fernando had included in her trousseau.
Pale yellow, it was the color of syringa, the bodice fitted her closely and was cut low at the front and at the back. There were tiny puff sleeves fashioned of yellow tulle which was also draped round the full skirt.
It seemed very grand and very décolleté for a quiet evening in the hills, but Dominica hoped Lord Hawkston would admire her in it.
Feeling a little shy she went into the sitting-room.
It was a long and very beautiful room filled with treasures of native craftsmanship which Dominica was longing to inspect.
To her disappointment she found not Lord Hawkston but Gerald, and he was alone.
He had a glass of whisky in his hand and looked up apprehensively when she entered as if he thought it might be his Uncle.
“Oh, it’s you, Dominica!” he exclaimed. “You’re early! I’ve not yet changed for dinner.”
“Did you enjoy your ride?” Dominica asked, crossing the room towards him.
“Not much,” he said. “I felt like a small boy who had forgotten to do his homework!”
For the first time Dominica felt rather sympathetic towards him.
“Was His Lordship very angry?” she asked.
“I’m in disgrace—you know that!” he replied. “But don’t let’s worry our heads about it. There are other things we can do besides sit in sack-cloth and ashes.”
He put down his glass and said unexpectedly:
“For instance, you could start by giving me a kiss. We’re going to be married, Dominica, but so far we have not had a chance of getting to know each other.”
He put out his arms as he spoke and pulled her roughly towards him.
Instinctively and without conscious thought she struggled and fought herself free.
“No!” she said. “No!”
There was a tremor of fear in her voice.
“Why not?” Gerald asked. “Are you playing hard to get, Dominica? After all, you’ve come here to marry me.”
“Yes ... I know,” Dominica said breathlessly, “but it is too ... soon. We have only ... just met. I ... I have hardly spoken to you.”
“That’s not my fault!” he said. “And now that I’ve had a chance to look at you, I can say you’re very pretty! What’s more, you have a very white skin. I like that. It’s a change!” As he spoke he put his arms round Dominica again and kissed her bare shoulder.
It happened so swiftly that she was unable to move away or prevent it. Then, as she felt the touch of his lips, she realised what he had said.
“It’s a change!”
A change from Seetha ... a change from the girl who had killed herself because of him.
Even as her whole being was revolted at the thought, Dominica felt his lips hot and greedy on her bare skin.
“No! No!” she cried again and parted her lips to scream.
As she did so the door opened and Lord Hawkston entered the room.
He had changed for dinner and, although he must have seen what was happening as he came towards them, his voice was completely expressionless.
“You will be late, Gerald, if you do not hurry.”
Gerald took his arms from Dominica and she felt for one moment that she was going to faint.
She put outlier hands. Just beside her there was the back of a chair and she held on to it.
“I won’t be long,” Gerald said and walked away.
Dominica fought for breath.
She had her back to Lord Hawkston and did not turn round.
She only knew she felt an intolerable relief because he was there and at the same time a sense of acute embarrassment because he had seen Gerald kissing her bare shoulder.
What did he think? How could he credit that she would permit such a thing?
Then she told herself it was what he would expect! He had brought her here to marry his nephew, and he would be glad that they were getting to know each other and that Gerald was attracted to her.
Even as she thought of him she could feel the heat of his lips; could smell his spirit-laden breath; could feel the roughness of his arms as he pulled her against him.
“I cannot... do it!” she told herself. “I must ... tell Lord Hawkston that I ... cannot do it!”
She heard him walk across the room to the window.
“Have you seen the sunset?” he asked in a quiet voice.
It checked the words that would have sprung to Dominica’s lips, words in which she would have explained how Gerald revolted her; how she could never let him touch her again; how she could not stay here.
Then as if someone was pointing an accusing finger at her she remembered all that she owed Lord Hawkston!
Her whole trousseau which had cost an astronomical sum, gowns and bonnets for the girls, the kindness he had shown to her as they travelled here, and how he was doing everything to make her feel at home.
“How can I be so ... ungrateful? How can I explain that must break my word ... go back on my ... promise?” Dominica asked herself.
She felt the faintness that had come over her when Gerald released her was now passing, but she was still conscious of his lips on her shoulder where he had kissed her.
She still felt a kind of sick depression inside but she told herself that she had to be brave.
What else could she do, owing Lord Hawkston so much? Being so desperately and hopelessly in his debt?
‘If I worked for a hundred years I could never pay him back for all he has spent on me,’ she thought.
With an effort that was superhuman she walked towards him.
As she reached his side he stepped forward through the open window and out on to the verandah.
“Sometimes I think this is the loveliest part of the day,” he said. “When I lived here alone I always used to try to be back in time to watch the sun go down and the stars come out. It is more beautiful and more moving than any play in a theatre could be, and the sounds of the night have a music that to me are finer than the greatest opera.”
Dominica knew he was trying to soothe and reassure her! He was attempting, she was sure, to tell her that if she did not panic, if she used her common-sense, everything would be all right.
But would it?
Would she ever be able to endure Gerald near her; to feel him touching her; to let him kiss her?
She reached out her hand to hold on to one of the pillars of the verandah and saw it was trembling.
“How can I tell him the ... truth?” she asked herself, and knew it was impossible.
CHAPTER SIX
It was another uncomfortable evening, with Lord Hawkston trying to make conversation and getting little response from either Dominica or his nephew.
Dominica did make an effort, but at the same time she found it was hard to chatter and smile and impossible to prevent herself from shuddering when she looked at Gerald.
It seemed to her however that Lord Hawkston was quite unaware that there was an undercurrent to the conversation, nor did he seem to notice that Gerald had imbibed a great deal of whisky before he came back to the sitting-room dressed for dinner.
During the meal he ostentatiously drank the fresh lime juice that had been prepared for Dominica, but after dinner when he left the room for a few minutes, she was sure it was because he was seeking another drink.
They had coffee on the verandah and by now the sky was darkening and th
e stars were coming out one by one.
There was a faint glow over the valley and she knew that in the depths of it the mists would be rising to cast a gossamer film over the tea-plants.
There was the sound of the torrent and the cry of the night-birds besides the shrill note of the ‘flying foxes’.
These tiny bats, hardly larger than a thumb-nail, swooped around the verandah as if they were inquisitive. Whenever the lights came on in a Ceylonese house they appeared in a flock, lured by some mysterious attraction.
The moths however were too numerous for the party to linger long on the verandah, and soon they returned to the sitting-room.
Lord Hawkston talked to Dominica for some time about the furniture that he had had made in different parts of the country and which had been brought to his house by various different means. One piece had been carried on the back of an elephant!
All the time he was talking Dominica was conscious of Gerald sprawled in an arm-chair, doubtless wondering how soon he could obtain another drink without his Uncle being aware of it.
It was not yet ten o’clock when she decided she would go to bed.
She bade both gentlemen good night, curtseying as she did so, then went to her room feeling it was a relief to be alone.
At the same time she would have liked to go on talking to Lord Hawkston.
She undressed and was ready for bed. Then having blown out the light she pulled back the curtains and opened the long windows on to the verandah which overlooked the lake.
The garden was very quiet and peaceful. In the light from the starlit sky the water of the lake was luminous and the fragrance of the flowers almost overpowering.
“It is lovely ... so incredibly lovely!” Dominica told herself. “If only one could be here with someone...”
She checked the thought before it went any further.
What was the point of wishing for the impossible?
If she stayed she must stay with Gerald as his wife.
She turned back into the bedroom as if the beauty outside hurt her. She crept into bed closing her eyes to try not to remember what she had felt when he had touched her; when he had kissed the whiteness of her skin and said with incredible insensitivity:
Moon Over Eden (Bantam Series No. 37) Page 12
