195. Moon Over Eden Read online

  The oldest member of the family, who played the organ, seemed to have eyes in the back of her head. As her youngest sister was fidgeting, she turned quickly to reprove her, at the same time handing to a small Ceylonese choirboy an open prayer book when he had obviously become hopelessly lost in finding the right place on his own.

  When she was not playing the organ, the older girl turned round so that she could watch the behaviour of the choir.

  ‘Obviously a very competent young woman,’ Lord Hawkston thought to himself as he saw her once again open a prayer book and hand it to another small boy who had no idea what responses he should be making.

  When she rose from her place, he could see that she had a slim elegant figure, which surprisingly was not entirely disguised by the coarse cotton that her dress was made of.

  Having lived for so long in Ceylon, Lord Hawkston was well aware that the gowns worn by the Vicar’s daughters were made of the cheapest white material that was used only by the poorest Ceylonese.

  The Governor had said that their mother had died two years ago. This meant that either the Vicar insisted on the long and tedious mourning that had become fashionable in England or else, since their bonnets were not yet worn out, they would continue to wear them until it was absolutely imperative to purchase new ones.

  The choir rose to sing a psalm and Lord Hawkston realised that despite the age of the organ it was being played skilfully. The Vicar’s oldest daughter was definitely something of a musician.

  All through the Service he found himself speculating about the family and wondering what their lives were like.

  He had a better idea of the atmosphere that they had been brought up in as he listened to the Vicar’s sermon.

  There was no doubt that the Governor was right and the man was obsessed with the idea of sin and with the punishment that would be inflicted on all sinners from which there was no escape.

  He spoke with a zeal that was unmistakable and a fire that came from the deep sincerity of conviction.

  As a Priest he was undoubtedly dedicated, but as a father, Lord Hawkston mused, he must be hard to endure.

  The Vicar faltered once in his sermon when he must inadvertently have turned over two pages of his notes at the same time.

  When he did so, his eldest daughter turned her head quickly to look up at the pulpit and Lord Hawkston saw her face completely for the first time.

  It was heart-shaped with a small straight nose and large eyes, which appeared to Lord Hawkston, at the distance he was from her, to be grey.

  Her eyebrows were arched almost like the wings of a bird against an oval forehead and he guessed that beneath the black bonnet her hair, which was almost ash in colour, was drawn back tightly and unbecomingly.

  The Vicar found his place and his daughter seemed to relax. She turned her head once again to see what was going on amongst the choir and bent forward to admonish a small boy who was playing with a catapult.

  He had drawn it from his pocket beneath his surplice and, startled by her attention, dropped the catapult and the stone that he was intending to use in its sling.

  It fell to the ground with a thud and the Vicar’s daughter bent forward with the obvious intention of telling him to leave it where it was until after the Service was over, but she was too late.

  Frightened at losing his most treasured possession, the choirboy was crawling about amongst the legs of the two boys who sat on either side of him in an effort to retrieve his treasures.

  He found them and slipped back on to the seat giving an anguished look at the Vicar’s daughter as he did so.

  She frowned at him. Then, as he bent his head in contrition, she caught the eye of her sister and gave her a faintly amused smile.

  It completely transformed the solemnity of her face and at that moment Lord Hawkston made up his mind.

  This was the right type of wife for Gerald, he told himself, a girl who could cope with a fanatical father, a collection of naughty choirboys and a household full of sisters and would undoubtedly be able to manage his nephew in a most competent manner.

  The idea was certainly worth exploring and he could not help feeling that this was far better material to work on for the reclamation of his nephew than the other women in the congregation rustling self-consciously in silks and satins and obviously paying no attention to the Vicar’s strictures.

  “Tell me about your Parson,” Lord Hawkston said as he drove back at the Governor’s side towards Queen’s House in a carriage pulled by two excellent horses.

  “He is a difficult chap,” Sir Arthur replied. “He is always complaining to me about the iniquities that go on round the Port and other less savoury parts of the town. I have to explain to him that it is not the Governor’s job to prevent men spending their money as they wish and, unless they are breaking the law, I have no jurisdiction to interfere.”

  “What about his family?” Lord Hawkston enquired.

  “I hardly know them,” the Governor replied. “They are invited to various entertainments from time to time, but their father mourns his wife in a manner that precludes everything, I suspect, except prayer. So we only see the eldest girl when there are meetings regarding the Church school or at fundraising occasions for the work that the Vicar does amongst the poor.”

  “It sounds a gloomy existence.”

  “I should imagine most young women today would find it completely intolerable,” the Governor agreed.

  “I was reading,” Lord Hawkston remarked, “that the spread of Christianity and education among the people of Ceylon is greater than in any other Eastern state.”

  “I think that is true,” Sir Arthur replied. “On the last census we had two hundred and twenty thousand Roman Catholics, fifty thousand Protestants and about two million Buddhists.”

  He paused to add with a twinkle in his eyes,

  “Other occupations of our people include one thousand five hundred devil dancers, one hundred and twenty-one snake charmers, six hundred and forty tom-tom beaters, five thousand fakirs and devotee beggars!”

  Lord Hawkston laughed.

  “A mixed bag!”

  There was no time to say more, as the carriage had drawn up at the Queen’s House.

  After luncheon Lord Hawkston sought out the Governor’s Secretary, an elderly man who had spent all his life in Colombo.

  He had served successive Governors who found his knowledge of local affairs invaluable.

  “I want to know all you can tell me about the Vicar of St. Peter’s,” Lord Hawkston asked him.

  “His name is Radford,” the Secretary replied. “He has been in Colombo for twenty-two years. He married out here and he is quite convinced that in the Queen’s House we are a callous unfeeling lot who have no sympathy with his violent desire to clean up the City of Colombo.”

  “He should compare it with other coastal Cities of the same size,” Lord Hawkston said dryly. “He would be surprised to find that in contrast Colombo is, in my opinion at any rate, an exemplary example of good behaviour.”

  “I would not go as far as to say that, my Lord, but there is in fact very little vice and on the whole our people are well behaved.”

  “That is what I have always thought myself. And now tell me about Mrs. Radford.”

  “She was a charming, lady,” the Secretary answered. “If anyone could keep the Vicar human, it was his wife. She came from a County family in England and her father was concerned with the Botanical Gardens at Kew. She came out with him when he was advising the Governor of the time on certain plants and trees that would do well in our particular soil. She met the Vicar, he was only a Curate in those days, and fell in love with him.”

  The Secretary paused before adding,

  “When I knew Radford first, he was an attractive young man, but even then fired with a prophetic zeal that I had always thought would be extremely uncomfortable to live with.”

  “They had six daughters?”

  “It has always been a deep sorrow to the Vi
car that he had no son,” the Secretary explained. “After Miss Dominica and Miss Faith were born he christened his third daughter Hope, but unfortunately she was followed by three more sisters – Miss Charity, Miss Grace and Miss Prudence!”

  “Good Heavens!” Lord Hawkston cried. “What names to saddle poor girls with for the rest of their lives!”

  “Dominica was lucky,” the Secretary continued. “She was born on a Sunday and therefore it seemed a suitable choice, but for the others it is another cross they have to bear.”

  “I can well imagine that,” Lord Hawkston remarked.

  “They are all very pleasant girls,” the Secretary said. “My wife thinks very highly of them and occasionally they are allowed to come to tea with my daughter, who is an invalid. Otherwise they have few amusements. Their father does not approve of secular interests.”

  “I wish to call on the Vicar,” Lord Hawkston declared. “May I mention your name by way of introduction?”

  The Secretary smiled.

  “Mention the Governor’s, my Lord. Despite himself, the Vicar is impressed by His Excellency.”

  “I will take your advice,” Lord Hawkston replied.

  He called at the Vicarage at four o’clock in the afternoon, feeling that it was not only the correct social time for calling but it would also undoubtedly be between Services.

  The door was opened by one of the sisters who looked about fourteen years old and whom he suspected was Charity.

  She gave him a startled glance and, when he explained that he wished to see her father, she ushered him in a somewhat embarrassed manner into the front room of the Vicarage, saying that she would fetch him.

  Lord Hawkston looked around and realised that everything was poor but at the same time tasteful.

  The curtain material could not have cost more than a few pence a yard, yet they were skilfully made and in a colour that echoed the blue of the sea.

  There were, however, no sofa cushions and the floor, scrubbed until it literally shone with cleanliness, was covered by only a few cheap native mats. The whitewashed walls were bare except for one landscape in water colours.

  There was a bowl of flowers on a plain table by the fireplace and the room smelt of pot-pourri, which after a moment Lord Hawkston located in a bowl set on the window ledge where ordinarily it would catch the rays of the sun.

  But since it was Sunday the blinds were lowered until only a foot of light came from the bottom of each window.

  Lord Hawkston knew that it was customary in Scotland and in some of the country parts of England to pull down the blinds on the Sabbath, but it was something that he had not expected to find in Ceylon.

  He realised, however, when the Vicar appeared that he had in fact committed a transgression by calling on a Sunday.

  “You wish to see me?” the Vicar asked coming into the room and looking, Lord Hawkston thought, even more gaunt and austere than he had seemed in Church.

  The sombre black of his clothing, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the thinness of his face and the grey of his hair, which was almost white at the temples, made him look like one of the ancient prophets ready to cry doom on the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah.

  “I am Lord Hawkston!”

  The Vicar made a small inclination of his head.

  “I am staying at Queen’s House with the Governor,” Lord Hawkston went on. “I called, Vicar, because I need your help and because I have something of importance to discuss with you.”

  *

  Outside the sitting room Charity closed the door behind her father and sped up the stairs.

  Dominica was in her bedroom, which she shared with Faith. She was taking off her bonnet, having just returned from the Sunday school that she held immediately after luncheon.

  Charity burst into the room and she looked up in surprise.

  “Dominica what do you think? What do you think?”

  “What has happened? Why are you so excited?” Dominica asked her.

  “A gentleman has called to see Papa and he has come in one of the Governor’s carriages. It’s the same gentleman who was in Church today. You must have seen him he was sitting next to the Governor and I saw him look amused when Ranil dropped his catapult.”

  “It was not at all amusing,” Dominica said. “Papa heard the noise and was very angry about it. It is difficult to make him understand that the choirboys never listen to his sermons.”

  “Why should they?” Charity asked lightly. “I bet the Governor does not listen either.”

  “I wonder what his guest wants with Papa?” Dominica said.

  “He is very distinguished-looking,” Charity told her, “but I don’t suppose he has come to invite us to a ball.”

  “Charity!” Dominica exclaimed and then laughed. “You know that is as unlikely as if we had all been invited to stay on the moon! Anyway Papa would not allow us to go.”

  “When I am grown up like you and Faith,” Charity asserted, “I shall dance whatever Papa says.”

  “Then you had better not let him hear you saying it now,” a voice said from the doorway, “or he will give you a good whipping!”

  Faith came into the bedroom as she spoke and Lord Hawkston had been right in thinking that she was a very pretty girl.

  Without the ugly black bonnet that had overshadowed her face she had fair hair, blue eyes and an almost angelic expression, but she also, although it did not show in her face, had a mischievous wit and was, like Charity, ready to rebel against the restrictions imposed upon them by their father.

  “What is all this?” Faith asked now. “Is it true there is a young man in the house?”

  “He is not particularly young,” Charity answered, “but he is smart and very impressive and he is staying at Queen’s House.”

  “Is he the one who was in Church today?” Faith asked.

  Charity nodded.

  “I had a good look at him,” Faith said, “and thought he was rather attractive.”

  Dominica laughed.

  “You would find any man attractive, Faith, as well you know.”

  “I don’t have the chance to see many except in Church,” Faith retorted. “I hoped that Lieutenant who made eyes at me last Sunday would be there today, but he must be on duty. There was no sign of him.”

  Dominica glanced towards the door.

  “Do be careful, Faith,” she begged. “I am always afraid that Papa will hear you talking like that.”

  “Papa is far too busy looking for sin in the town to ferret it out in his own household,” Faith replied lightly.

  “I should not be too sure of that,” Dominica warned her.

  “What do you think the gentleman downstairs is talking about to Papa?” Charity said. “Shall I listen at the door? If Papa found me in the hall, I could say I was waiting to show his guest out.”

  “Yes, do that,” Faith agreed quickly.

  But Dominica interposed,

  “You will do nothing of the sort, Charity. It is vulgar and ill-bred to listen at keyholes, as well you know.”

  “But why do you think he wishes to see Papa?” Charity asked.

  “We shall know in good time,” Dominica answered calmly.

  Then she gave a little cry.

  “Heavens, do you think he will stay to tea? I meant to make a cake yesterday, but there was no time and also, to tell the truth, I had run out of housekeeping money and did not dare to ask Papa for any more.”

  “Never mind,” Faith said, “we can cut him some sandwiches and Charity can collect some fruit from the garden. I expect he has stuffed himself with exotic luxuries at Queen’s House and will not care for the peasant fare we have in this house.”

  “Faith, please don’t talk like that in front of the younger ones,” Dominica said almost pleadingly. “You know as well as I do that Papa thinks too much luxury incites sinful thoughts.”

  “Judging by what we eat,” Faith replied, “it’s a wonder we can think at all. I am quite certain I am suffering from malnutr
ition!”

  Dominica laughed.

  “You don’t look like it! The last dress I made you had to have another inch in the waist.”

  “That,” Faith said with dignity, “was only natural growth!”

  Dominica was about to reply when she heard a voice calling to her.

  “Dominica please come here, I want you.”

  It was her father and she looked at her sisters in consternation.

  “For goodness’ sake cut some sandwiches,” she said quickly to Faith. “And you, Charity, find fruit of some sort and fill the wicker bowl with it. It looks nice even if the fruit is not very exciting. We finished the only ripe pawpaw yesterday.”

  She was still giving instructions as she opened the bedroom door and ran down the stairs.

  “You are keeping me waiting, Dominica,” her father called out reprovingly.

  “I am sorry, Papa, I was just telling Faith and Charity what to do in case your visitor stays to tea.”

  “To tea?” the Vicar repeated, looking as if he had never heard of such a meal. “Yes, yes, of course. Perhaps it would be polite to offer him a cup.”

  “Shall I go and get it ready, Papa?”

  “No, the others can do that. Lord Hawkston wishes to speak to you.”

  Dominica looked surprised, but before she could say anything her father had opened the sitting room door and she walked into the room.

  She had, of course, noticed the stranger in the Governor’s pew, but she had reproved her sisters so often for looking about them curiously that she had trained herself not to look at the congregation and most of all not to stare at the worshippers from Queen’s House.

  Nevertheless she recognised the man she had seen opposite her in the Chancel and thought that he was even better looking than he had appeared in Church.

  He was also extremely elegant in Dominica’s eyes.

  She never met the young Army officers who Faith cast longing eyes on, but occasionally she came in contact with the sons of the Civil Servants and other English dignitaries who resided in Ceylon.

  When she did, they always seemed to her to be somewhat self-conscious in their best clothes and high white collars, almost as if they were wearing fancy dress that they were not accustomed to.