One Maid's Mischief. George Manville Fenn
people in the tropics, they make a point of rising early. Helen Perowne was up with the sun, and dressed in a charming French muslin costume, had a delightful drive, which she called upon Grey Stuart to share, before she met her father at breakfast—a meal discussed almost in silence, for Mr. Perowne would give a good deal of his attention to business matters over his meals, a habit against which Dr. Bolter warned him, but without avail.
The repast was nearly finished, when a servant entered and announced that the Sultan Murad was coming down the river in his dragon-boat, and evidently meant to land at the stage at the bottom of the garden.
“What does he want?” said the merchant, absently. “Been collecting tribute, I suppose, and wants to sell. Go and see if he lands,” he said aloud, “and then come back.”
“This is the way we have to make our money, my dear,” said Perowne, smiling, but without seeing the increased colour in his child’s face.
“The Sultan is here, sir,” said the man, returning.
“Where?” asked Mr. Perowne.
“In the drawing-room, sir. Shall I bring in fresh breakfast?”
“I don’t know. I’ll ring. I’ve done, Helen. I say, young lady, what a colour you have got! You stopped out too long in the sun this morning.”
“Oh, no, papa, I think not,” she replied; “but it is hot.”
“You’ll soon get used to that, my dear. I don’t mind the heat at all. Party went off very well last night, I think.”
The merchant was by this time at the door, wondering what proposal the Rajah had to make to him, for all these petty princes stoop to doing a little trading upon their own account, raising rice in large quantities by means of their slaves; but, man of the world as the merchant was, he did not find himself prepared for the proposition that ensued.
In this case Helen was more prepared than her father, though even she was taken by surprise. She had had her suspicions that the Rajah might take her soft glances and gently-spoken words as sufficient permission for him to speak to her father; and though she trembled at the possible result, there was something so deliciously gratifying to her vanity that she could not help enjoying the position.
To be asked in marriage by a real sultan! What would the Miss Twettenhams say? and if she accepted him she would be sultana. The idea was dazzling at a distance, but even to her romance-loving brain there was something theatrical when it was looked at with the eyes of common sense.
She could not accept him. It was absurd; and after all, perhaps he had no such idea as that in coming. It was, as her father thought, some matter of business, such as he had been in the habit of visiting her father about over and over again, and such as had resulted in the intimacy which made him a welcome guest at the house.
She thought differently, however; and though she assumed surprise, she was in nowise startled when her father returned.
“I say, Nelly!” he exclaimed, looking annoyed, and completely off his balance, “what the dickens have you been about?”
“About, papa?” said the girl, raising her eyebrows, “I don’t understand you!”
“Then the sooner you do the better! I’ve quite enough to worry me without your foolery! Here’s the Rajah come to see me on business.”
“Very well, papa, I don’t understand business,” she said, quietly.
“But you’ll have to understand it!” he cried, angrily. “Here, he says that you have been giving him permission to speak to me; and as far as I can understand him, he proposes for your hand!”
“The Rajah, papa! Oh! absurd!”
“Oh, yes, it’s absurd enough, confound his copper-coloured insolence! But it puts me in a fix with him. If I offend him, I shall offend his people, or he’ll make them offended, and I shall be a heavy loser. Did you tell him to speak to me?”
“Certainly not, papa!”
“Perhaps I misunderstood him, for he speaks horrible English. But whether or no, he proposes that you shall be his wife.”
“His wife, papa! Why, he has a dozen!”
“Yes, my dear, of course; but then these fellows don’t take that into consideration. What the deuce am I to do?”
“Tell him it is an insult to an English lady to propose such a thing!” said Helen, haughtily.
“Yes, that’s easily said; but you must have been leading the fellow on.”
“He was your guest, papa, and I was civil to him,” said Helen, coldly.
“A deal too civil, I’ll be bound! I’m sick of your civilities, Nell, and their consequences! Why can’t you get engaged like any other girl? I wish to goodness you were married and settled!”
“Thank you, papa,” she replied in the same cold, indifferent manner.
“Yes, but this fellow’s waiting to see you. What am I to say.”
“What are you to say, papa? Really you ought to know!”
“But it’s impossible for you to accept him, though he is very rich.”
“Quite impossible, papa!”
“Then he’ll be offended.”
“Well, papa, that is not of much consequence.”
“But it is of consequence—of great consequence! Don’t I tell you it will cause me serious loss; and besides that, it is dangerous to affront a fellow like this. He is only a nigger, of course, but he is a reigning prince, and has great power. He’s as proud as Lucifer; and if he considers that he is affronted, there’s no knowing what may be the consequences.”
“He may carry me off perhaps, papa,” said Helen, showing her white teeth.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that he might not attempt it!”
“Like a baron of old,” said the girl scornfully. “Papa, I am not a child! How can you be so absurd?”
“You can call it what you like,” he said angrily; “but your folly has got us into a pretty mess. Well, you must go in and see him.”
“I? Go in and see him?” cried Helen, flushing. “Impossible, papa!”
“But it is not impossible. I told him I didn’t know what to say till I had seen you, and, what was the perfect truth, that I was quite taken by surprise. Now the best thing will be for you to go in and see him and temporise with him. Don’t refuse him out and out, but try and ease him off, as one may say. Gain time, and the fellow will forget all about it in a month or two.”
“Papa!”
“Ah, you may say—papa; but you have got me into a terrible muddle, and now you must help to get me out of it. I must not have this fellow offended. Confound the insolent scoundrel! Just like the savage. He learns to wear English clothes, and then thinks he is a gentleman, and insults us with this proposal.”
“Yes; insults us papa: that is the word!” cried Helen, with spirit.
“Well, time’s flying, and he is waiting, so go and see him at once, and get it over.”
“But I tell you, papa, I cannot. It is impossible!”
“Why, you were talking to him for long enough last night in the drawing-room. Now, come, Helen, don’t be ridiculous, but go and do as I tell you; and the sooner it is done the better.”
Helen Perowne pressed her lips tightly together, and a look came into her face that betokened obstinate determination of the straightest kind.
“Papa, you make matters worse,” she cried, “by proposing such a degrading task to me.