Moon Over Eden (Bantam Series No. 37) Page 15

It was surrounded by trees and not very large. It was shaded from the sun which filtered through the branches, throwing a variegated pattern of gold and giving the clearing a strange mysticism that was difficult to describe.

  The pool itself was breathtaking. Covered by the giant lotus, some of which were open and some in bud, it was a picture of colour and beauty which made Dominica draw in her breath because it was so lovely.

  On the other side of the pool stood a pedestal on which there was a statue of Buddha.

  Lord Hawkston, following the direction of her eyes, said:

  “Here is one of my special treasures that I particularly wanted to show you. I think it originally came from Anuradhapura, but I found it neglected and forgotten amongst some ruins in the jungle and I brought it here, so that at least it has a reverent and appropriate setting.”

  “It has indeed!” Dominica said, speaking for the first time since she had seen the pool.

  “Come and look at the carving on it,” Lord Hawkston suggested.

  They encircled the pool, having a little difficulty in pushing through the ferns and plants which had forced their way between the trees when there had been no gardeners to keep them under control.

  They reached the statue of Buddha and Dominica realised that Lord Hawkston had placed it against a background of Temple-trees and champees which were to be found near every Buddhist wihara on the island.

  Buddhism, she knew, was the religion of flowers and she thought that Lord Hawkston was one of the few Englishmen who would have treated the sacred emblem of a religion other than his own with such reverence.

  She thought as they reached the statue, which on its pedestal stood a little above them, that he looked annoyed to find the fig-ivy which climbs all over rocks and buildings was curling itself round the ancient grey stone.

  He put out his hand to start pulling it away from where it was encroaching on the stone lotus on which the Buddha was seated.

  “It must be very old...” Dominica began when something, she was not certain what it was, made a movement that attracted her attention.

  She turned her head and screamed.

  Just behind them, having come silently through the undergrowth, was standing a man!

  His face was contorted into a mask of demoniacal hatred, his arm was raised and in his hand was a wooden-handled, sharp-pointed kris.

  Without thinking, just acting as her instinct told her to save the man she loved, Dominica threw herself against Lord Hawkston as he bent over the stone lotus.

  He staggered and the knife which would have struck him in the base of the neck, missed.

  Instead the sharp-pointed blade passed through the thick corolla of plaited hair which Dominica wore on top of her head, and the force of it threw her backwards so that she was impaled against the trunk of a tree.

  It all happened so quickly that Dominica’s scream of fear had hardly died away before Lord Hawkston, regaining his balance, had drawn his pistol and shot the madman who menaced them.

  Even as he fired, Lord Hawkston realised that it was Lakshman, whom he had been seeking all the morning.

  Lakshman threw up his hands as the bullet hit him in the chest and he fell backwards into the pool, his body splashing through the giant lotus.

  Lord Hawkston turned to Dominica and realised that after the shock of what had happened she had fainted and was held upright only by the kris which pinioned her through her hair to the tree.

  Hastily he put his arm around her and drew out the knife, feeling a sudden fear because it was covered in blood.

  Then as he threw it to the ground and examined Dominica’s head he saw with relief it was not her blood which stained it.

  She was still unconscious and he picked her up in his arms and carried her round the side of the pool.

  Only as he reached the path which led back to the house did he look down at the water and realise there was no sign of Lakshman.

  The lotus blossoms had closed again over the spot where he had fallen through them.

  Except for the blood-stained kris lying at the foot of the statue of Buddha, there was nothing to show that murder had been attempted in that quiet spot and that two people had been saved from being massacred by only a hair’s breadth and a frightened scream.

  Holding Dominica closely in his arms Lord Hawkston walked quickly down the path which led back to the house.

  Only when he reached the cultivated part of the garden did he find Gerald.

  His body was lying face downwards on the grass, his white shirt stained crimson where Lakshman had struck him in the back as he was walking home for luncheon.

  Dominica stirred.

  Vaguely she remembered coming back to consciousness more than once, but what she thought or felt had been very hazy.

  Someone had given her something to drink and she had fallen asleep again—the deep, dreamless sleep of complete oblivion.

  Now she felt different. It was almost as if she could feel herself coming alive: her brain began to work and she was no longer sleepy.

  Slowly she opened her eyes and for a moment it was difficult to imagine where she could be.

  It was a room she had never seen before and the bed in which she was lying was very large. There were two posts at the end of it reaching right to the ceiling.

  The sunshine was coming through the curtains which were only half-closed and the windows were open on to the verandah.

  Suddenly Dominica was aware that she was in the room about which Lord Hawkston had spoken, the ‘Palm Room’ which he had built for himself and which Gerald had closed.

  At the thought of Lord Hawkston a little tremor went through her. Now she remembered!

  Slowly she recalled the contorted face of Lakshman when he had tried to kill him.

  She had known without being told who the madman was, known that he was Seetha’s father desiring revenge for the way in which his daughter had been treated. He must have wished to kill not only Gerald Warren, who was responsible for her death, but also any white man connected with him.

  Before she had fainted with the horror of what had occurred, she had heard the report of Lord Hawkston’s pistol and seen Lakshman fall into the pool.

  It was then a merciful darkness had covered her so she had known nothing more.

  “I wonder how long ago it happened?” Dominica asked herself.

  She had the feeling that some time had elapsed and yet she could be sure of nothing.

  Surprisingly, she told herself, she was no longer afraid.

  Perhaps it was because she was in Lord Hawkston’s room, and although she was alone it was as if the sense of protection he gave her lingered there in the atmosphere.

  She looked up and was spell-bound by what she saw.

  The posts she had noticed at the end of the bed were carved like palm-trees; the ceiling was arched and palm branches were painted on it.

  Now she looked around the room and realised that every six feet or so there were carved trunks of palm-trees rising from the floor to the ceiling and between them, vividly and skilfully executed, were murals of the jungle.

  There were trees, ferns and convolvuli, vines and rattans. There was the weaving plant, known as the kudumimris, which weaves itself from tree to tree.

  There were lianas which wove fantastic patterns in the tree-tops, falling to the earth in marvellous festoons. And of course there were the flowers. Orchids of every shape, size and colour, magnolias and camellias, rhododendrons and roses.

  It was all so beautiful and unexpected that Dominica could only lie against her pillows looking around her with delight.

  There were the birds which she had known all her life: the crested eagle, the hawk, the martin and the swift.

  There were also halcyons, or kingfishers, small, red-billed and resplendent, their bodies sapphire-blue—the bluest blue it was possible to imagine.

  She could also see the green bee-eaters and the paradise fly-catchers with their rich chestnut plumage, orioles black heade
d and golden, the blue-tailed pittas and green pigeons.

  How could Lord Hawkston have thought of having a bedroom so exciting, she thought in delight, and so incredibly lovely?

  She remembered he had told her that it was unique and she knew there could not be a room in the whole world that was so different from everyone else’s.

  She raised herself a little higher on the pillows so that she could go on looking at it.

  Now she could see little monkeys had been painted in the trees and in one corner of the room there was the ‘walura’ or boar, which Dominica knew was happy, grubbing and greedy, unless he was cornered, when he could become extremely vicious.

  There were also glimpses through the exquisite foliage of a bear, a sambhur and a leopard.

  But what were much more beautiful were the butterflies of every size and colour and the lizards, which Dominica had tried to tame ever since she had been as small as Prudence.

  It was all like watching a fairy-story being projected before her, and she lay for a long time looking at it with fascinated eyes until she found herself wondering how many of Lord Hawkston’s friends, especially those in England, would think him capable of creating such an imaginative fantasy.

  “It is because he loves the country so much,” Dominica told herself, “that he wants to keep it around him even when he is asleep.”

  And she knew that just as Lord Hawkston loved Ceylon Gerald hated it.

  The thought of Gerald made even the sunshine seem dark for a moment. Then the door opened and a woman came in.

  Dominica had never seen her before, and yet she knew she must have been aware of her even while she had been unconscious.

  She was a smiling, pleasant-faced Englishwoman, wearing a badly-fitting white blouse and skirt, and her mousy hair had escaped untidily from a bun pinned at the back of her head.

  “You’re awake!” she said with a smile. “I thought you would be.”

  “How long have I been asleep?” Dominica enquired.

  “For three days!” the woman replied and as Dominica looked incredulous she said:

  “I’d better introduce myself. I am Mrs. Smithson and I have been looking after you.”

  “Thank you,” Dominica said. “Are you a Nurse?”

  The woman crossed the room to draw back the curtains a little further and let in more sunshine.

  “I’m what they call a Medical Missionary,” she replied. “But Nurse is a better word, for if anyone is ill in this district I am the only person they can ask for unless they are prepared to travel all the way to Kandy.”

  She turned from the window towards the bed.

  “I’m glad you are awake, Miss Radford,” she said, “because, as a matter of fact, I’ve come to tell you that I must leave.”

  “Have ... have you told ... Lord Hawkston?” Dominica stammered, a little bewildered.

  “Lord Hawkston will be returning on the afternoon train from Kandy,” Mrs. Smithson said. “He has been at the funeral.”

  “The funeral?”

  “Of his nephew, Mr. Warren,” Mrs. Smithson said quietly.

  She saw Dominica stiffen and the surprise in her eyes.

  “Lakshman killed him before he attempted to take Lord Hawkston’s life,” she explained. “His Lordship told me that you saved him!”

  “Lakshman killed ... Gerald?” Dominica repeated almost beneath her breath.

  “He died instantly,” Mrs. Smithson said. “A native kris is a very lethal weapon!”

  Dominica said nothing and after a moment Mrs. Smithson went on:

  “I’m sorry about this. Everything that happened must have been a terrible shock for you. But I know you’ll realise there’s nothing you can do about it, except forget it. Such tragedies occur, but not often, I’m glad to say.”

  “And ... Lord Hawkston shot... Lakshman?” Dominica asked hesitatingly.

  “He was quite mad, poor man!” Mrs. Smithson replied. “As a matter of fact, when I treated him for an affliction in one of his eyes a few months ago, I thought he was decidedly unhinged. He was a difficult man and no-one would employ him.”

  She leant against the carved post of the bed and looked at Dominica.

  “Forget it all, child,” she said, “and if you take my advice you’ll get up, go downstairs and be ready to greet Lord Hawkston when he arrives.”

  “How did you keep me asleep for so long?” Dominica enquired.

  “It was His Lordship’s idea,” Mrs. Smithson said, “and, as it happens, I agreed with him. It wasn’t anything drastic, just a few herbs that I give to women who are in pain to make them feel a bit ‘muzzy’. You’ll be quite all right when you’ve had a cup of tea.”

  She gave a little laugh.

  “I always say there’s nothing like a good strong cup of our own tea to sweep away the cobwebs!”

  She glanced at the clock.

  “I’ll tell the servants to bring you up some and prepare your bath. I’m sorry I can’t stay so that we can get to know each other, but doubtless we’ll meet again.”

  “Why are you leaving?” Dominica asked.

  “That’s what I came to explain,” Mrs. Smithson replied. “Will you tell His Lordship that Mrs. Davison, whose husband is a planter on the other side of the hill, has started her first baby and they’ve sent for me? I know he’ll understand.”

  “I am sure he will,” Dominica said, “and thank you very much for looking after me.”

  “It’s been a pleasure!” Mrs. Smithson smiled. “And between ourselves, I’d do anything for Chilton Hawk—I beg his pardon—Lord Hawkston! And you tell him for me, the longer he stays, the better! We need him here!”

  “I will give him your message,” Dominica said.

  Mrs. Smithson held out her hand.

  “Goodbye, Miss Radford! And try not to worry about what’s happened. There’s always tomorrow. That’s what I always say!”

  “I will try to do as you suggest,” Dominica smiled.

  Mrs. Smithson shook her hand heartily.

  “Goodbye!” she said again. “Take care of yourself. I’ll be popping in to see you one of these days!”

  When she had gone Dominica lay back against the pillows.

  So Gerald was dead!

  It might be wrong—it might indeed be wicked—but she could not help feeling a sense of unutterable relief.

  Now she would not have to marry him! Now she would be free of the promise she had given Lord Hawkston.

  Then suddenly another problem presented itself.

  Would this mean that she must go home immediately? That she could no longer stay here in the hills? That she must return to the life she had lived before Lord Hawkston had taken her into a world she had never known?

  It was a world that contained drama and danger and strange passions—at the same time a world so beautiful, so wonderful, that she knew it had changed her whole being.

  Then with a sudden urgency which revived her like a glass of wine she knew that she wanted to see Lord Hawkston again; she wanted to talk to him, to be with him; and for the moment she could think of nothing else!

  Dominica was downstairs waiting in the sitting-room when she heard the carriage which had met Lord Hawkston at the station driving up to the front door.

  The big doors of the house were always left open so that the cool air could blow through, and now she was suddenly tense as she heard the servants greeting their master and heard Lord Hawkston reply:

  “I want to wash and put on something comfortable.”

  “Your bath is ready, Durai.”

  Dominica heard Lord Hawkston go upstairs. She knew that while he had given up his room to her he had slept in another which was on the same floor.

  Already she had discovered that even in the three days she had been ill things had changed about the house.

  There were many more servants and the place seemed to shine with a new cleanliness and brightness as she came down the stairs.

  She had looked out into the garden an
d seen no fewer than five men working to cut back the encroaching jungle, replace the flowers that had been rooted up by the leopards, and water the green lawns.

  She thought too that some pieces of the furniture had been moved, and she guessed that they had been put back in the places which Lord Hawkston had originally planned for them.

  The sitting-room was filled with flowers and there had been big bowls of flowers in her bedroom. They had seemed almost a part of the murals on the walls.

  But in the sitting-room they now stood on every chest and table, and in the hall there were great vases of lilies which scented the whole house with their sweet fragrance.

  Dominica had spent much longer than usual after she had had her bath in making herself look as attractive as possible.

  She seemed thinner since her long sleep and her eyes seemed to fill the whole of her small heart-shaped face.

  She could not bear to plait her hair and dress it as it had been before. Even to think of the corolla on her head was to remember the impact of Lakshman’s kris as it had passed through it and pinioned her to the tree.

  Instead she coiled it into a chignon at the back of her head and hoped that Lord Hawkston would not think it looked too old-fashioned.

  She chose her prettiest gown; then when she had it on, wondered if she should change into another.

  She had the feeling that it was important to look her best because, although she would hardly face the fact, she knew that her whole future depended on what he was about to decide for her.

  As she sat waiting in the sitting-room, forcing herself to sit still with her heart thumping tumultuously in her breast, she knew that her lips were dry with fear.

  While she longed irrepressibly to see him again, she was afraid that when she did so, he would tell her that he expected her to go home at once, perhaps tomorrow.

  “How can I bear it? How can I face it?” Dominica asked herself.

  She thought how humiliating it would be if she burst into tears and cried against him as she had done when she had been so frightened by the leopards.

  Yet when he came into the room she felt her heart leap and it was impossible to speak; impossible to do anything but rise to her feet to stand looking at him, conscious that her knees were trembling.