Moon Over Eden (Bantam Series No. 37) Page 13

  “It’s a change!”

  How was it possible, she asked herself, for her ever to forget Seetha and that she had killed herself because this man had turned her away?

  “I will not think of it ... I will not!” Dominica told herself.

  And yet she felt almost as if Seetha was beside her, talking to her, telling her how much she had suffered.

  Suddenly Dominica knew the reason why Seetha had killed herself!

  It was because she was too ashamed at being turned away without money, to return to her village!

  It would mean that no man would marry her without a dowry. She could not face the scorn of her friends and relations and knew herself to be a failure.

  Death was preferable to disgrace and the torrent made death easy!

  “How could Gerald have done that to her?” Dominica asked the darkness.

  As Dominica went from the sitting-room Lord Hawkston said to his nephew:

  “I have something to tell you, Gerald.”

  “What is it?”

  “I got up early this morning,” Lord Hawkston answered, “and I rode over to the village where Lakshman lives. I hoped to see him but he was not there. However I discovered some important facts about him.”

  Gerald did not answer. He only looked at his Uncle with a surly expression on his face as if he resented his intrusion into what he felt were his own private affairs.

  “The villagers told me that Lakshman has been struck by the Rakshyos with madness.”

  “What the devil does that mean?” Gerald enquired.

  Lord Hawkston made an impatient gesture.

  “You have been in this country for two years,” he said. “Surely you have tried to understand something about these people? Especially those in the hill-country with whom you are dealing.”

  “If you’re referring to their religious beliefs, I can’t make head or tail of such rigmarole!”

  The tone in which he spoke made Lord Hawkston tighten his lips, but in a quiet voice he answered:

  “You must be aware that although the Ceylonese are Buddhists, the villagers still depend in many ways on the Hindu Gods. They believe in good and bad omens and in evil spirits and demons, which were the beliefs of their Yakkho forebears.”

  Looking at his nephew Lord Hawkston realised he was not particularly interested, but he continued:

  “They are in fact still devil-worshippers and even their worship of a peaceful, gentle Buddha does not prevent this. Cruelty and death, sickness and pain are all in the hands of legions of devils and spirits with which the unseen world teems.”

  Lord Hawkston paused and there was a smile on his lips as he said:

  “There is, in fact, in my opinion, very little difference between the spirits and devils of the Ceylonese and the doctrine of Satan and Hell which is preached so fervently in Colombo by Dominica’s father.”

  “You told me he was a Parson,” Gerald said. “Why, in Heaven’s name, did you choose me a Parson’s brat for a wife?”

  “I chose Dominica,” Lord Hawkston said, and now his voice was cold, “because she has both personality and character, something which I am sorry to see is singularly lacking where you are concerned.”

  “You have made that obvious,” Gerald said with a snarl in his voice. “Go on with your lecture.”

  Lord Hawkston ignored the rudeness in his tone.

  “The good spirits of the villagers,” he continued, “are the Yakshyos, who are kind and gentle with a veneration for the Lord Buddha.

  “On the other hand the Rakshyos are fierce, malevolent and evil. They inhabit the places of the dead and forests, where each has his own particular tree from which he will strike a passer-by with madness!”

  Lord Hawkston walked across the room before he continued:

  “This may seem strange and far-fetched to you and me, but the people here believe it, and they told me with all sincerity that Lakshman had been driven mad by a Rakshyo.”

  “Then bad luck to him!” Gerald said lightly. “I cannot see that I can do anything about it.”

  “It is more serious than you seem to imagine,” Lord Hawkston said sharply.

  “Why?” his nephew enquired.

  “You have been here during the Ceylonese New Year,” Lord Hawkston replied. “You must know, if you have taken the slightest interest in our people, that the long anticipated festival, which is a time of family reunion all over the island, brings in its train a great number of evils—particularly gambling and drinking.”

  Lord Hawkston glanced at his nephew as he spoke and continued evenly:

  “Under the stress of such excitement the excitable side of the Ceylonese nature overcomes their habitual gentleness and passivity. Quarrels flare up suddenly, stabbings are frequent and, as you may not be aware, the murder rate in Ceylon is very high.”

  “Are you suggesting,” Gerald asked, “that Lakshman will murder me?”

  “I consider it quite a possibility,” Lord Hawkston answered. “The Kappurala, or the Devil-Dancer, in the village whose job it is to cast out or placate evil spirits spoke very seriously of Lakshman. He knows his own people and I am prepared to listen to his warnings.”

  “Well, I’m not!” Gerald exclaimed positively. “If you ask me, the whole thing is a lot of nauseating rubbish thought up by the priests to extort money from the fools who listen to them. I know Lakshman. I met him when he came to offer me his daughter. He’s a quiet, inoffensive chap about half my size. I’m no more afraid of him than I would be of a strutting bantam-cock!”

  “Very well,” Lord Hawkston said, “I have now arranged for a thorough search to be made for Lakshman so that I can pay him the money you owe him and try in some fashion to compensate him for the loss of his daughter. All I can say is that your behaviour in the matter and your callous indifference to the death of this wretched girl appalls me!”

  As if he was afraid he might say any more Lord Hawkston went from the sitting-room closing the door behind him.

  His nephew sat still for a few seconds, then clapped his hands to summon a servant to bring him a whisky of which he felt in vital need.

  Dominica was dreaming.

  In her dream she heard Prudence crying.

  Sometimes, after their mother had died, Prudence had suffered from nightmares from which she had awoken calling for her mother, only to burst into floods of tears when she found she was not there.

  Dominica had always left the door of her and Faith’s room open, so that they would hear Prudence if she cried out since she slept on the other side of the passage.

  It had been a desperate loss for all the sisters when Mrs. Radford had died, but Prudence had only been seven and she had missed her mother with an intensity that made Dominica fear at times that her sorrow would undermine her health.

  It is true she had never been very strong. She had been born prematurely and from the time she was a baby, she had been small, pale and more prone to sickness than the others.

  Perhaps because she was the weakest one of the family Mrs. Radford had seemed to love her the most, and yet none of her other children had been jealous.

  Prudence, they felt, was someone special and Dominica had decided when she left Colombo that the first person she would have to stay with her in her new home would be not Hope, but Prudence.

  She was well aware that Prudence’s sensitive nature found it hard to endure the harshness of her father’s religion and his attitude towards them.

  He disciplined them all as if he felt they were sinners who must be purged of evil, and for Prudence to be included in this general condemnation was, Dominica knew, bad for her not only mentally but also physically.

  She had been thinking of Prudence before she fell asleep tonight, and wondering how she, or her other sisters, would fit into the household.

  She had fondly imagined before she arrived that Gerald Warren would both look like his Uncle and also be kind and understanding as Lord Hawkston had been ever since she knew him.

&n
bsp; But now not only her own dreams of the life she might lead were fading but also her plans for her sisters were evaporating like the mists over the valley.

  What would Faith think of Gerald’s drinking?

  She was certain that Charity with her sharp intelligence would see at once that he treated the workers in the wrong way and might even find out the truth about Seetha.

  That was an episode, Dominica told herself, about which the girls must never learn.

  She knew only too well how shocked and horrified they would be, because like her they loved the gentle, attractive Ceylonese women.

  At the same time Dominica was aware that the air here in the mountains would suit Prudence and perhaps bring some colour into her pale cheeks.

  She would enjoy the meals, because whomever else he dismissed Gerald had kept his Uncle’s superlative cook and Dominica found every dish a delight she had never before experienced.

  Now half asleep she sat up in bed thinking that she must go to Prudence and comfort her. Then she realised where she was.

  She was not in the Vicarage but miles away from her family, and the cry she thought had come from Prudence was obviously from some animal out in the garden.

  It came very clearly through the window she had opened on to the verandah, and now more fully awake she realised it was not a cry but a whimper or whine that a very small animal might make.

  She was well aware that many animals in the jungle made strange sounds. She had read books on how travellers had been frightened almost out of their wits by jackals whose cries are so blood-curdling they strike a chill to the heart.

  There was no reason to be afraid or upset by the little whimper she heard, and yet somehow as it continued, it was rather sinister and she was sure the animal, whatever it was, was just outside the window.

  “It will move away in a moment,” Dominica told herself and lay down again.

  But it was impossible not to hear the continuous sound. It was piteous, so that Dominica knew it would be impossible to sleep again as long as it continued.

  “It will go away in a moment,” she told herself again. “It would be ridiculous for me to try to help the animal.”

  Perhaps it was in pain, but it was very unlikely, even if it was, that it would allow her to go near it.

  “I will not listen,” Dominica determined.

  She turned her head sideways on to the pillow. Nevertheless she knew she was still tense as the whining continued.

  She wished now she had not left her bedroom window open.

  Supposing it came into the room? Supposing, worse than the plaintive animal, a snake came in from the verandah?

  She felt her heart begin to thump in fright. Then suddenly, there was a snarling noise that made her leap with fear.

  There could be no pretending that this was not a savage animal, and one that was definitely dangerous! The snarling became a roar and the sound seemed duplicated and the intensity of it was deafening.

  For a moment Dominica was paralysed with fear. Then in a panic which swept away every thought, every feeling except that of a terror which shot through her like the sharpness of steel, she sprang from her bed and running across the room pulled open the door.

  She had no idea where she was going; she was past thought, past everything but a horror which drove her instinctively with a sense of self-preservation to run away.

  She opened another door and ran quickly, wildly, frantically, to where she knew she would be safe.

  Lord Hawkston had also been awakened by the noise and he knew at once that it was two leopards fighting. As he awoke he cursed his nephew once again for his indolence and indifference to what was the ordinary duty of a planter.

  The leopards had at one time been so prolific in the jungles of Ceylon that they had proved a real menace to the tea-planters.

  With their numbers kept under control, they had become more rare and were not dangerous to man under normal circumstances.

  They brought down deer and cattle and exercised mesmeric power on the monkeys whom they seemed to regard as their natural enemies.

  But if a planter allowed the wild beasts of the jungle to encroach upon his plantation and become a menace, not so much to the workers, as to their animals, like pigs and dogs, he had no-one to blame but himself.

  As Lord Hawkston sat up, he wondered if the leopards would remain in the garden long enough for him to find a gun and shoot them.

  Then, even as he thought about it someone small and terrified came through the door of his room and running towards the bed flung herself upon him.

  His arms went round Dominica and he knew as she pressed herself against him that she was trembling all over and he realised how frightened she must be.

  “It is all right,” he said quietly. “They will not harm you.”

  Her hands clutching at his night shirt were convulsive and he felt her press herself even closer as if she sought sanctuary from the fears which beset her.

  “It sounds very terrifying,” Lord Hawkston said in his calm, deep voice, “but at this time of the year, when the animals are mating, there are frequently fights in the jungle and the wild elephants make the most noise of them all!”

  He realised as he spoke that his words were having little effect upon Dominica.

  She was still trembling convulsively and her face was hidden against his shoulder.

  “The leopards are still there. Let me go and find a gun, Dominica. I will shoot them and they will never worry you again.”

  “No ... no! Do not ... leave me!”

  Her voice was low but he heard the panic in it.

  “I will not do anything which will upset you further,” he said, “but you must be sensible about this.”

  He got no further.

  “I am not ... sensible! I never ... have been ... sensible!” Dominica cried. “I have ... tried to be what you ... wanted ... but it is ... impossible! I am ... frightened of... everything. I have tried to ... hide it but it is no ... good.”

  “That is not true,” Lord Hawkston said. “I think you have been very brave about many things.”

  “I am ... not, I am ... not!” Dominica said. “I have been ... acting a ... lie ... but you have not... realised it. I have been ... afraid ever since I was a child. I was afraid of ... angels; so Papa made me stay all... night in the ... Church alone and now I am ... afraid of the ... dark! I am afraid of ... snakes and of ... leopards! I am afraid of ... Mr. Warren, and of having to ... marry him!”

  The words were said in a passionate whisper, but they were said and Lord Hawkston knew as he listened that he might have expected them.

  “You will despise me ... I know you will,” Dominica went on, “’and I am ... afraid of making you ... angry. But you have to ... know the ... truth and I am ... ashamed I have ... deceived you.”

  She burst into tears as she spoke and Lord Hawkston felt the tempest which racked her thin body. It made him feel as if he held a very young and very unhappy child in his arms.

  For a moment there was nothing he could say. He could only hold her close as she wept despairingly, hopelessly, as if she no longer had any control over her emotions.

  She must have bottled up her feelings for so long, Lord Hawkston thought, that now it was like a dam that had broken and her pent-up emotions were sweeping everything away in a flood, leaving her nothing but her sense of insecurity.

  “Do not cry, Dominica,” he said gently at last. “I will put everything right for you. It is not as bad as you think.”

  “It ... is! It... is!” Dominica murmured in between her tears. “I have ... let you ... down. I have broken my ... promise, but I cannot ... help it. I am such a ... coward ... such a ... hopeless and ... despicable coward!”

  “You are nothing of the sort!” Lord Hawkston said.

  His nightshirt now soaked with her tears, but he was aware that she was not trembling so violently in his arms.

  Then suddenly he realised there was no longer any sound from outside
.

  “The leopards have gone!” he said. “I am sorry in a way you could not have seen them because the Ceylon leopard is a very fine and impressive creature. There are black rings round his body rather like a tiger, but much less clearly marked. He has spots only upon his legs, and his spring, which is enormous, is one of the most graceful movements in the whole animal world.”

  He was talking deliberately to divert Dominica’s mind from her misery, and as he went on he knew that she was listening to him.

  “There is also a pure black leopard on the island. He is very beautiful, but I have seen only three of them all the years I have been in Ceylon.”

  Dominica gave a little sigh.

  Her tears ceased, but she did not move her face away from Lord Hawkston’s shoulder.

  He knew she had turned to him in her terror entirely for protection.

  She had forgotten she was wearing only a thin muslin nightgown, one of the beautifully embroidered ones that Madame Fernando had included in her trousseau.

  She was not even aware that Lord Hawkston was in fact a man.

  He was everything that was safe; a stronghold against terror; a sanctuary against fear; a protection against anything that might hurt her.

  He was in fact, quite impersonal and yet she had turned to him because he was the one man whom she knew she needed at this particular moment.

  “Everything is quiet,” Lord Hawkston said softly.

  Dominica raised her head.

  He could not see her in the darkness, but he could feel her long hair trailing over her shoulders and falling well below her waist.

  She smelt of a flower which for a moment he could not identify. Then he realised it was in fact the sweet fragrance of lavender.

  It was a strangely English scent amongst all the exotic perfumes of the East, and somehow it made him think of all he loved in England and of his mother.

  “You need no longer be afraid, Dominica,” he said gently.

  “I am ... not,” she replied, but her voice caught in her throat as she spoke and sounded somehow infinitely pathetic like a very young child’s.