by Deborah Hale
“To think Singapore would ever see Senhor Grimshaw host a children’s party.” Carlos Quintéra quipped to the other men who’d accompanied their families.
While Bethan led the youngsters in a series of games in the sitting room, and their mothers sat out on the veranda gossiping over cups of punch, the men had congregated in Simon’s dining room.
“I think it’s a canny plan,” replied Denis Nairn. “This gives us a chance to gather and discuss what to do about these infernal outlaws without our esteemed Resident getting wind of it and imagining we’re plotting his overthrow.”
Simon did not deny the claim, though it wasn’t strictly true. His chief motive for hosting this party had been to please his daughter and Bethan, and to make up for the restrictions he’d placed on them. This opportunity to meet with some of the other merchants and officials was an unexpected windfall.
“Speaking of the outlaws,” said Captain Flynn, “did you hear about last night’s raid on the dhobi lines? I heard the commotion from my hill. If any of you had clothes out being laundered, you may never see them again.”
“What was the point of that?” demanded Quintéra over the outraged muttering of the others. “Do these savages mean to parade around the jungle in our shirts and waistcoats?”
Simon wondered how many items of his had been lost. “I think they did it to tweak our noses and show just how much they can get away with. Perhaps if they stole enough pairs of the Resident’s trousers, he might take the situation more seriously.”
“I agree.” Quintéra nodded. “We need to set those convict crews building a road into the jungle so the outlaws cannot slip away after their impudent attacks.”
“In the meantime,” said Simon, “I suggest we all increase our contributions to the Night Watch Fund and have extra men patrol the European Quarter in addition to the Commercial District.”
Nairn and one of the other Scotsmen shook their heads at the suggestion of an additional expense, but Quintéra endorsed it readily. “An excellent idea. The Resident can hardly interfere with a project we are funding ourselves. Perhaps it will embarrass him into agreeing that we need that road.”
As the discussion continued, Simon found his attention distracted by the sound of Bethan’s voice from the sitting room. “Remember, when you spot the thimble, call out huckle-buckle-beanstalk but don’t tell the others where you’ve seen it.”
Edging towards the doorway, he glanced in to watch the children at play. Rosalia was holding little Mary Flynn by the hand and beaming with excitement. His daughter’s smile reminded Simon of the way Carlotta had looked once, when he’d bought her a present. He braced himself for the sharp sting that always accompanied memories of his late wife, but he felt only a faint twinge of regret.
Had his desperate efforts to suppress those memories given them more power over him? Now that he’d dared confront them, with Bethan’s help, was it possible his old wounds might finally begin to heal?
As he continued to watch the children scramble around the room searching for the tiny thimble hidden in plain sight, he saw what Bethan meant about Rosalia’s resemblance to him. His daughter was always the first to run and help a younger child who fell down. She encouraged a bashful latecomer to join in the game. When one of the boys teased his clumsy little brother, she had a few choice words for the bully.
Simon’s chest swelled with pride to see how readily his daughter helped those who needed it. His heart warmed with a sense of deep kinship unlike anything he’d felt for her before. Grateful to Bethan for fostering that bond, he sought her out with his gaze. For an instant, their eyes met over Rosalia’s head. From the brooding softness of her smile, he sensed she’d been thinking the same thing about his daughter.
A rush of tenderness toward her welled up in him.
“I congratulate you on a splendid acquisition in Senhorita Conway.” Carlos Quintéra suddenly appeared at Simon’s elbow, interrupting their intimate gaze.
“My daughter thinks the world of her,” he answered stiffly.
He’d never much cared for Quintéra, who used to infuriate him by speaking Portuguese to Carlotta so he could not understand what they were saying.
Now the man appraised Bethan with an exasperating little smirk. “You may have started a new fashion. My wife says we should hire a European amah for our boys. She claims they speak Cantonese better than their mother tongue. Don’t be surprised if she or one of the other ladies try to lure Senhorita Conway away from you.”
“If they do, I will find out the highest bid for her services, so I can top it.” Simon tried to sound jocular, but the words came out in tone of deadly earnest.
Quintéra gave a low, suggestive chuckle. “I suspect another reason you chose to host a children’s party.”
“Do you?” Simon forced the words through his clenched teeth.
“But of course. This way, none of Singapore’s bachelors are on hand to gain introductions to the lovely Senhorita Conway. What sort of bids do you suppose they might make for her services?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Simon’s right hand clenched into a fist that he had trouble restraining.
“Come, come, man. Nothing to fash yourself over, as your partner Northmore used to say. I am only suggesting it might require a different sort of gold to counter their bids. In the form of a ring, perhaps.”
The veiled suggestion that one of his competitors might make Bethan an offer of marriage stole the breath from Simon’s lungs. A similar thought had troubled him when she’d threatened to leave his house. At that time he’d only been concerned with protecting her. Now his feelings were much more intense and personal.
It suddenly occurred to him that the freedom of their arrangement cut both ways. If Bethan received a better offer from another man, she would not be legally or morally bound to him in any way. Indeed, any respectable clergyman would urge her to abandon a life of sin for the sanctity of wedlock. Simon could not abide the idea of her remaining in Singapore but living in another man’s house, bearing his name and perhaps his children. Not after the intimacy they’d shared. When Carlotta had betrayed him, at least she’d gone away, not stayed to flaunt her new liaison and mortify him in the eyes of the entire community.
And yet…he felt like the meanest dog in the manger for begrudging Bethan the chance to make a truly respectable life for herself. How dare he resent her accepting from another man the one thing he could not give her?
Simon reminded himself that he had made her an offer of marriage, only to have her refuse in the most insulting terms. Then again, it had been a most insulting offer.
As he watched Bethan gather his daughter into a fond embrace, Simon wondered if perhaps the time had come to reconsider the part he wanted her to play in their lives.
Was this the reason Simon had seemed reluctant to host the party? Bethan wondered as she led the children through their games. Because he knew how awkward her position would be?
It was clear their guests did not know how to treat her. Was she the hostess or a mere servant? Was she Rosalia’s respectable care-giver or Mr Grimshaw’s secret mistress? The uncertainty about her place made everyone uneasy. The ladies were careful to be civil but not too friendly. The moment she was out of earshot, she was sure they started gossiping about her. Their husbands were rather too friendly, making her skin crawl with their leering looks. Only the children behaved naturally towards her. They did not care whether she was wife, nursemaid or mistress as long as she kept them entertained.
Had Simon deceived her with his assurance that mistresses were accepted in Singapore society? Or did men take no notice of the subtle signs women used to shun outcasts? Even if he did come to love her in the future and offer to marry her, could she ever expect more than grudging tolerance from the people among whom she must live?
In spite of those qualms, she was not sorry she’d suggested Simon host this party. The reason for that was one particular guest. Captain Flynn, the harbour-master she’d long be
en anxious to question about her brother’s ship, had accompanied his wife and daughters to the gathering. Though the things she’d learned from Simon about his mutiny had shaken her absolute faith in Hugh, Bethan still could not rest until she knew what had become of him.
The party was nearly over by the time she managed to catch Captain Flynn off by himself. While some of the guests were still eating and others preparing to leave, the harbour-master stood in one corner of the veranda sipping a cup of punch while he gazed out towards the sea.
“Keeping watch over your harbour, Captain?” Bethan grasped for an opening that might lead into her question without sounding suspiciously abrupt. “Master attendant of such a busy port must be a very important post.”
“It was at one time.” With a fierce scowl, Captain Flynn bolted the last of his punch. “Before our current Resident saw fit to strip away the prerogatives of my office.”
“What a shame.” It was clear the man nursed a deep grievance of some sort, but Bethan did not have the time to hear all the particulars. “I was hoping you might be able to answer a question for me, about a ship that passed through Singapore three years ago.”
The captain gave a derisive chuckle. “My dear young woman, have you any idea how many ships have come through this harbour in that time?”
Before she could hazard a guess, he provided the discouraging answer. “Almost a thousand square-rigged vessels and perhaps ten times that many native craft.”
She should have known it was hopeless, that far too much time had passed to discover anything useful. Stubborn resolve made her clutch at straws. “It wasn’t a native ship. It would have come from England.”
“That’s different,” the captain replied, much to her surprise. “We’ve had less than two-score ships from Europe since this place was founded. That number is expected to rise dramatically now that a treaty has been signed and Singapore is an official British possession. What ship did you want to know about?”
“The Dauntless.” A tantalising flicker of hope almost made Bethan forget the excuse she’d invented to explain her interest. “A man from my village was among the crew and he hadn’t been heard from since his ship left Singapore.”
It was not an outright lie, she told herself in an effort to ease her conscience. She’d only failed to mention that the man was her brother.
“The Dauntless… hmm?” Captain Flynn stared off towards one of the ships at anchor as if picturing another that had been there three years ago. “Didn’t she go up in flames during a mutiny off the Coromandel Coast?”
“Oh, dear.” In spite of the heat, an icy chill swept through Bethan. This was the first she’d heard about a fire. “Did all hands perish?”
The captain shrugged. “I don’t recall much about it, though I do know there was at least one survivor. Doctor Ellison took passage from Singapore aboard the Dauntless on his way to an assignment in Madras. He’s back here now, staying just up the road with his friend Dr Moncrieff.”
“Fancy that.” It took every scrap of self-control Bethan could summon to keep from betraying her excitement. “I must think to ask him about it if we happen to meet.”
She chatted for a few more minutes with Captain Flynn, then excused herself. For the rest of the party, she went about in a hopeful daze. To think that all these weeks she’d tried in vain to glean any scrap of news about her missing brother, when someone with reliable information about Hugh was so nearby.
The first chance she got, she would be off to question this Dr Ellison to find out what he knew about the Dauntless mutiny.
Chapter Fifteen
“The party was a great success, thanks to you.” Simon lifted his cup of punch in a toast to Bethan.
Their guests had long since departed, not wanting to be caught away from home after dark. With some difficulty, Bethan and Simon had managed to put his overtired, overexcited little daughter to bed. Now they sat together on the veranda, watching the stars come out above the eastern horizon.
Bethan did not reply to his praise. She seemed lost in thought. Now that he came to think of it, she’d been preoccupied ever since the party got over.
“How many of the ladies tried to hire you away to work for them?” Though he strove to make it sound like a jest, Simon was very much in earnest. Had she realised how great a demand there might be for her services? And did it make her regret the impulsive decision to place herself in his keeping? What if she discovered there were men in Singapore willing to offer her not only comfort and security but respectability as well?
His question seemed to jar Bethan out of her musing. Or perhaps it was the anxious edge he hadn’t been able to keep out of his voice. “Only one, though another did ask me to let her know if I’m ever looking for a new position.”
“Do you intend to?” he asked. “Is that what’s been on your mind this evening?”
“No!” Bethan batted the air with her hand as if to dismiss such an absurdity. “I told them I’m quite contented where I am.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Thank God he was in no immediate danger of losing her. A pressing weigh seemed to lift off Simon’s chest, allowing him to breathe properly again. “Mrs Bertram asked if Rosalia might like to come to their house next week to visit and stay the night.”
“Will you let her go?” asked Bethan, her attention fully engaged.
“I wanted to talk it over with you first. Do you think it’s a good idea? Mrs Bertram assured me their place is as well guarded.”
“Of course!” Bethan cried almost before he’d finished. “You saw how much Rosalia enjoyed playing with the other children today. I know you want to keep her safe, but there are other things just as important. If you let her go, I’ll guard her with my life.”
“I’m sure you would.” Her devotion to his daughter stirred something deep within him. “But I thought we might let Rosalia stay on her own. It would allow her a taste of independence and give us some time alone. What do you say?”
For a moment he thought Bethan might object, but something seemed to change her mind. “It might do her good. And she won’t be far away.”
Simon set down his empty glass and went to kneel beside Bethan’s chair. “It might do us good to have more than stolen moments together when Rosalia is sleeping.”
She reached up to brush a lock of hair back from his forehead. “I think it might.”
He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, where he dusted kisses over each of her fingertips. Those clever, supple fingers of hers were becoming deliciously adept at rousing him. Her natural curiosity and playfulness made each encounter a sort of fresh adventure that even a cautious man like he could relish.
“I know what I will enjoy most,” he whispered.
“Are you going to tell me?” She rested the tip of her little finger in the shallow cleft of his chin. “Or do I have to guess?”
Simon chuckled, enjoying this intimate banter more than he’d ever imagined he could. “I am going to enjoy waking up next to you, knowing you will not have to rush away to tend my daughter.”
“It will be a treat to sleep in.” Her eyes sparkled with innocent mischief.
“You could pretend to be asleep…” Simon leaned closer to nuzzle her neck “…while I find inventive, pleasurable ways to wake you.”
“I like the sound of that,” Bethan murmured, her voice husky with desire.
“It’s settled then.” He got to his feet, scarcely noticing the familiar pang in his leg. “Tomorrow I’ll send word to Mrs Bertram, accepting her very kind invitation.” Seizing Bethan’s hand, he hoisted her up from her seat and into his arms. “But for now, I have a very amusing game I’d like to play with you.”
“Good day, sir,” Wilson greeted Simon when he strode into the office a few days later. “There was a man came by last night after you’d gone and left a parcel for you. He said it was from Mr Hong, with his compliments.”
The clerk held out a small box.
For a moment Simon could not i
magine what it might be. Then he recalled asking the Chinese trader to make enquiries about Bethan’s stolen property. Prying open the box, he lifted out a silver locket.
“Is that Bethan’s?” Wilson broke into a broad grin. “The one that was stolen?”
“So it would appear.” Simon unfastened the delicate catch and opened the locket, relieved to find the miniature portrait of her father still intact.
The handsome Welshman stared back at him with grey-green eyes as merry and curious as Bethan’s. His hair had been the same rich shade of auburn too. And his chin had the same intrepid tilt as his daughter’s. Mr Conway had been a fine-looking fellow in his youth. No wonder he’d attracted the desire of a woman other than his wife. What if a penchant for inconstancy ran in the family?
“She’ll be glad to get that back.” Wilson’s voice broke in upon Simon’s doubtful brooding. “I never saw her without it the whole time we were sailing from home.”
Snapping the locket shut, Simon chided himself for his unjust suspicions. Here was proof Bethan had been telling him the truth from the first day she’d set foot in Singapore.
If anything, she was too honest. Informing him with brutal candour that he was neglecting his daughter, admitting the desire she felt for him even when he might have exploited it, challenging his stubborn reluctance to talk about painful events from his past. Uncomfortable as her frankness could be at times, he found it refreshing and admirable. She was one woman he would never have to fear deceiving or betraying him.
“When you’ve got a minute, sir,” said Wilson, returning to his ledger, “George had a question about the different grades of indigo. And the captain of an American ship wanted to buy some coffee, tea, sugar and spices. I told him to come back today.”
“Good.” Simon headed towards the warehouse. “By treaty we’re not permitted to sell trade goods to Americans, only enough to provision their ships. I’ll talk to George about the indigo. All the different grades can be confusing.”
