“Of course. You don’t even need to ask. My office door is always open to you. Jessie and Norma would be hanging around in front of the screen all the time if they didn’t have to be in school.”
“You mean that?”
“Jessie and Norma or you using the computer?”
“Computer.”
“Of course—what’s it there for? Feel free to use it. Write up everything you find out. And perhaps you should warn Sunny that you might have to stay here a bit longer than you intended. I’m not going to let you go, anyway, until I know whose workshop that violin came from and how it came into your hands. At least we’ve got Thornton on board now. Having access to his archives is priceless.”
“Why haven’t you ever been in touch with him before?” Lilly asked, her thoughts returning to his face with those dark eyes. He really was incredibly attractive! She was glad that she would still be involved with him, but on the other hand the prospect made her nervous, even though she feared she was not his type.
“There’s never been any reason for our two companies to come into contact—that’s all. He researches sheet music and former pupils; I examine and restore musical instruments and determine their value. They’re connected, certainly, but our aims are quite different. The academic aspects of my activities are secondary. But Thornton is an academic through and through, and if he ever does get his hands on an instrument that needs dating, he has his own people.”
Ellen smiled at her and laid an arm around her shoulders like she used to do when they played together in the attic. “It’s so lovely to have you here and to be doing something together.”
“Wherever this quest leads us,” Lilly said a little skeptically. “Thornton said that both Rose Gallway and Helen Carter had a connection with Sumatra. Have you ever considered going on vacation there?”
“Never in my wildest dreams!” Ellen replied. Lilly knew that since her institute had become so successful, she rarely traveled. “But to be honest, I’d have nothing against a trip.”
“What about your business?”
“I’m in charge of my own business, aren’t I? I could simply write off the trip as research expenses.” They looked at one another, laughing.
9
Padang, 1902
Welkom, the governor’s residence, lay outside Padang near the Barisan Mountains. The white building nestled like a precious pearl in a lush green tapestry of paddy fields and palm groves. The Dutch-colonial style was a little different from the English, but the architecture was pleasing to Paul’s eyes. The columns to either side of the entrance were graceful, and numerous tall windows reflected the rosy evening sky. The terraced layout and a staircase of shallow steps made the sloping grounds easy for visitors to explore.
It was even more beautiful than Paul had been led to believe from his father’s and other travelers’ accounts. The parkland he and Maggie drove through in their coach looked a little Caribbean with its palms and mango trees, and as they drew near, Paul could make out jasmine bushes, orchids, frangipani, and other shrubs that he had not been able to distinguish from farther away. All the flowers gave the air a wonderful scent, permeated with a hint of cinnamon. There must be some cinnamon trees growing in the governor’s garden.
As if van Swieten had arranged for nature to put on a special display for this evening, a pink haze drifted down from the mountains, beyond which the pale face of the moon was still tinged with the last of the sunlight. Ghostly cries reached them from afar—monkeys, various species of which lived in the area in large numbers.
Paul was dying to get a once-in-a-lifetime glimpse of the wild anthropoid apes called orang hutan—man of the forest—in Malay in their natural habitat. The London Zoo had recently obtained a few more pairs, but they were deprived of all dignity and nobility behind bars. They may have been fine as a fairground attraction to frighten a gullible public, but Paul wanted to see them in all their glory, something he could only do here.
But Maggie seemed somehow intimidated by the strange calls. She didn’t complain, but he could tell from her expression that the exotic natural world scared rather than delighted her. Had she no eye for the beauty of this region?
“Maggie, darling.” Paul tried to lift her spirits by pointing out a particularly beautiful frangipani tree in full bloom, a specimen that must have been growing for many decades. A couple of black-and-white plumed birds with huge yellow beaks flitted about in its branches. “Just look at that tree! Wouldn’t it be lovely to have something like that in our garden in England?”
The sight of the pink blooms with their yellow eyes finally succeeded in bringing a smile to Maggie’s face.
“You’re right, it’s really beautiful. I wonder if the governor would give us a cutting?”
“I’m sure he would if we asked. This tree would make a real showpiece for our orangery. And who knows, perhaps he might even give us one of those birds. Did you know they’re called hornbills?”
“Because of their huge beaks?”
His wife finally seemed to be relaxing a little.
“That’s right, because they have a horn on their beaks. If we had a specimen like that, we’d be the envy of all London society with their boring parrots.”
Maggie nodded her agreement and laid her head on Paul’s shoulder. Her good cheer faded a little. “How long do you think we’ll have to stay here?”
“As long as necessary.”
“And how long is necessary?”
“We’ll grace this wonderful land with our presence until I’ve reached agreement with the sugar plantation owner about my investment.”
Without giving Maggie the chance to protest, Paul leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. The touch of his lips brought a flush to her porcelain skin.
“But Paul, that’s . . . ”
“Not seemly?” Paul smiled broadly and kissed her again on the other cheek. “We’re married. Why shouldn’t it be seemly? I doubt anyone would think anything of it if I dared to kiss you on the lips in public—after all, I’m your husband now!”
Maggie suddenly resembled a summer apple that had been bathed in sunlight. Paul saw that several people had gathered on the broad flight of steps and refrained from kissing her again.
At the front door they were greeted by a dark-haired servant in traditional Batak garb. He was wearing the characteristic dark, patterned scarf bound around his head like a turban. He bowed to Paul and Maggie and gestured for them to follow him.
More guests were standing in the entrance hall. The huge, magnificently decorated room was alive with snatches of German, English, and Dutch, and Paul even caught a few words of French here and there. From the corner of his eye, he watched Maggie studying the other women. Some of them were very young and, to judge by their dresses, quite wealthy.
Paul was glad he had persuaded Maggie to take that walk into the city. He knew she had a tendency to feel inferior if she saw that a woman was better dressed than she was. The peach-colored silk dress made for her in three days by the Chinese dressmaker was easily equal to any of the others. Maggie held her head appropriately high with pride as she noticed one or two envious glances.
It was not long before the governor noticed the newcomers. Piet van Swieten was a tall man with a broad face, gray strands flecking his blond hair, and a white goatee. His shining eyes were as blue as the sky over Padang harbor, and his laugh boomed throughout the room.
Arms spread wide in welcome, he approached Paul and Maggie, calling out in slightly accented English: “My dear friends! I’m delighted to welcome you here!”
“Mijnheer van Swieten, the pleasure is all mine,” Paul replied in Dutch. “May I introduce my wife, Lady Margaret Havenden?”
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, my lady.” The Dutchman bowed elegantly and kissed her hand. “And I hope very much that my soirée will live up to your expectations of a cultural event. Out here, more or less in the middle of nowhere, one could say that the rules are quite different fro
m those in Europe. The lack of certain things that are taken for granted in the Old World forces one to improvise.”
“Have you invited any Balinese dancers?” Paul asked.
Van Swieten laughed. “Your father must have told you about them. No, on this occasion we have a different kind of artistic delight. She’s a daughter of this country, but one who has been making the headlines recently, which makes me very proud. And you should be, too, Paul, as she’s a half compatriot of yours.”
“A half-caste?” Maggie blurted out.
“If you want to call it that . . . In any case, these . . . half-castes are an important mainstay of this country, no less hardworking and dedicated than anyone else here.”
Paul detected that van Swieten sounded a little offended. He knew only too well that the Dutch regarded mixed marriages somewhat differently than the English. Their aim was more to keep the state and, above all, trade running smoothly. In order to do so, they needed the natives just as much as their descendants, even those born from mixed marriages.
“Please excuse Lady Margaret; she meant no harm by it. In the English colonies, marriages between white people and the natives are quite rare. And of course it doesn’t mean that she has any doubt about the talents of your guest.”
Van Swieten’s expression softened, returning to its easy cheerfulness. “If that’s the case, I’m sure you’ll be delighted. But before we go any further, I’d like to introduce you to my wife and daughter. They’re dying to meet you.”
The governor led them deeper into the room. Curious looks from other guests followed them as they walked. Van Swieten’s wife, whom Paul recognized from a photo, was in conversation with a rather stout elderly woman. The girl at her side was so similar in appearance that she must be her daughter.
“Geertruida, darling, come and greet Horace’s son and his good lady.”
The governor’s wife, who was a good ten years younger than van Swieten, and who cut a fine figure in her dark blue dress, excused herself from the other women and gestured for the girl to come with her.
“This is my wife, Geertruida, and this is my daughter, Veerle.” Van Swieten puffed out his chest with pride. “She will be getting married in two months.”
The young woman, who looked about eighteen or nineteen, smiled shyly as the governor’s wife extended her hand to Paul. He bent to kiss her hand, then introduced Maggie.
“Lady Margaret and I were married four months ago, shortly before my father died,” Paul said, noticing as Maggie pressed her lips together in dismay. She never said it out loud, but he knew that she considered his father’s death so soon after their marriage to be a bad omen.
“I was very sorry to hear about your father,” van Swieten said sadly. “But it’s clear that God arranges everything in the world in such a way that it keeps turning. You will be a worthy successor to Lord Havenden.”
A moment’s stiff silence fell between them before van Swieten remarked: “It’s a pity you didn’t celebrate your wedding here. If I were young again and wanted to marry, I know I would elope with Geertruida and take my marriage vows in Padang.”
The governor’s wife gave him a glance of disapproval. “Piet, you shouldn’t talk like that. You know a wedding needs a lot of preparation. Even workers wouldn’t dare to simply elope if they still have family.”
“Workers may not dare, but the aristocracy can surely allow themselves to!” the governor replied, but his wife shook her head.
“You shouldn’t talk like that in front of your daughter. She’s not going to elope, anyway, are you, Veerle?”
The barely concealed threat in her voice made Paul smile. Geertruida van Swieten clearly held a tight rein on her family.
Seeming to find the atmosphere a little strained, the governor said, “Very well, I have to leave you for the time being, but I hope we’ll have an opportunity to talk for longer later. Geertruida, can you please take care of our guests?”
“With the greatest of pleasure!” The governor’s wife smiled at Maggie and Paul and led them over to the ladies with whom she had been speaking before. They were met by some admiring glances, and Paul looked at his wife with pride. Yes, she made a wonderful Lady Havenden. And perhaps she was even developing a kind of love for this country—the country that possibly held a future source of income for them.
The feel of the soft powder puff on her skin and the delicate scent that wafted from it had a calming effect on Rose. She had powdered her nose at least three times, an unnecessary action. She was surprised at herself—why was she feeling such stage fright? During the previous months, when she had been fêted as a rising star of the music world, she had played in front of far larger audiences than the one here.
But now here she was, in this room adorned with white furniture that had been given over to her as her dressing room, feeling as she had the first time she played for Mrs. Faraday. No, even worse, before her first concert at the conservatory, prior to which Mrs. Faraday had threatened she would smash her violin to pieces if she didn’t play well. The threat had made her tremble like a leaf as she sat on her stool, since her unusual violin with its rose on the back had been her only possession back then—a possession given to her by her father, moreover, which made it all the more special.
But all had gone well, and she still had her violin. So there really was no reason for her to feel anxious. She was on safe ground with Vivaldi, as the piece was brilliant. Of course it felt a little strange to be playing Winter from The Four Seasons in Sumatra, but Mrs. Faraday had always been of the opinion that music was a language that was understood anywhere in the world.
Still, she was somewhat on edge. Was she anxious because the concert here was such an intimate occasion? Because she was in a private house? Or because the audience could hear the slightest mistake? Not that she had made very many recently. Her agent had praised her last concert to the high heavens, as had the press. But how quickly a reputation could be damaged! Women especially were scrutinized. All it would take would be for one of the governor’s friends to have contacts in the music world, and the word would spread like wildfire if she played disastrously.
A knock at the door tore her from her thoughts. She expected Mai to appear, to fuss over her hair one more time, but the visitor she called in was Sean Carmichael, her agent.
“You look enchanting, my child!” he said with a light clap of his hands. “Like an angel waiting to charm humanity with her music and lead them to the path of righteousness.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Rose said calmly. If there was one thing that remained constant in their relationship, it was Carmichael’s preperformance flattery. The first few times it had done Rose a world of good, but she now knew that he would flatter her even if she looked disheveled and ugly—the main thing was that she brought money into the coffers. The higher the amount, the more excessive the flattery would be the next time.
“But I’m not exaggerating.” Sean spread his arms, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “You look truly delightful. The governor and his guests will be captivated.”
“What kind of man is the governor?” Rose asked, since on her arrival she had been informed that the man of the house was momentarily absent. A servant had led Rose and Mai to their assigned room and a little later brought her some lemonade and a few dainty cakes.
“At first glance he seems a little . . . shall we say unrefined. The Dutch have a completely different manner from the English.”
“I know the ways of the Dutch here,” Rose said. “And I don’t dislike them.”
“No, no, no, I wasn’t implying that van Swieten was unpleasant.” Sean raised his hands dismissively, then came up behind her. “I know you’re from this region, and you have a lot to thank your Dutch teachers for. I only wanted to warn you about the governor’s manner. He’s the kind that wouldn’t think twice about pinching young ladies’ backsides.”
“Sean!” Rose was appalled, but he merely laughed.
“Calm down,
Rose! All that matters here is that you play well. The governor chooses his friends carefully—and to judge from the number and size of coaches outside, they’re all influential people. I’ll put my feelers out on your behalf; I’d be surprised if we didn’t get an appearance in New York out of it at some stage.”
Rose smiled at her reflection. Sean might indulge in exaggerated flattery, but he knew full well what she wanted. And to date he had always kept his promises.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he said with a smile. “But now you should be getting ready. It won’t be long before the guests want to hear you.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when Mai burst into the dressing room. She froze when she caught sight of Sean but then closed the door behind her.
“The governor’s servant has told me you’re due to play in a quarter of an hour. I’d better touch up your hair again.”
“You’d do better to bring your mistress her violin and let her practice a little to soothe her nerves,” Carmichael said as he vanished with a laugh from the dressing room.
“Don’t listen to him,” Rose said, seeing that Mai was uncertain what to do. “I can play no matter what, but I really could do with you seeing to my hair again. I look like a mop!”
As Mai picked up the brush and stroked it carefully through her long, black hair, Rose closed her eyes. The piece appeared before her note by note, and she imagined the accompaniment that she would not have tonight, but which she carried with her in her soul, and considered the places where she could best add ornaments to the melody. In this way she allayed her nerves, and when the knock finally came to say that she was due on, she arose in quiet anticipation.
Paul could not remember how many hands he had shaken. He was amazed to find how many men had known his father. Maggie had been spirited away by the governor’s wife, who wanted to introduce her to a few of her friends. Seeing that she was content, Paul had let her go and was now paying for it by enduring a constant stream of questions about the former Lord Havenden.
The Moonlit Garden Page 9
