One Maid's Mischief

“Tell her to put an end to this absurd piece of folly,” said Hilton, in the same tone. “We shall be the laughing-stocks and butts of the whole service.”

The slight twitch at the corner of the Inche Maida’s mouth betrayed the fact that she had heard their words, but she took no notice, and went on addressing Chumbley now.

“I ask you both to share my home,” she said. “You are his friend, Mr Chumbley, and I know he likes you, so I felt that it would be too much to expect him to be quite happy here without an English friend. Besides, I know how great and good a soldier you are.”

“I modestly accept your praise, madam,” said Chumbley, “but I haven’t seen yet the record of my noble deeds.”

“You puzzle me when you speak like that,” said the Princess. “You are laughing at me; but I will not be angry with his friend, whom I brought to be companion, counsellor, and guide.”

“So you had me kidnapped to amuse Captain Hilton – eh?” said Chumbley. “Well, really, madam, I am honoured!”

“Not only for that!” said the Princess, eagerly. “Do I not make you understand? You are a soldier and a brave man!”

“How do you know that?” said Chumbley, with a good-humoured twinkle in his eye.

“How do I know?” cried the Princess. “Would the English Queen have chosen you to guard Mr Harley with your men if you were not? My people know already that you are brave. You beat them so that they could hardly master you; and they talk about you proudly now, and call you the great, strong brave rajah.”

“Well, it’s very kind of them,” said Chumbley, drily; “for I laid about me as heartily as I could.”

“Yes, they told me how you fought, and I was glad; for they would have despised you if you had only been big, and had let them tie you like a beaten elephant.”

“That comes of being big, Bertie,” said Chumbley. “You see, they compare me to an elephant.”

“I have commanded that you shall be chief captain for your friend, and lead our fighting men, as well as being Tumongong, my lord’s adviser. A chief is trebly strong who has a brave and trusty friend.”

“I say, old man, do you hear all this?” said Chumbley.

“Yes, I hear,” said the other, quietly.

“This is promotion with a vengeance! Yesterday lieutenant of foot, to-day commander-in-chief of her highness the Inche Maida’s troops.”

“Yes, you shall be commander,” said the Princess, seriously. “It will save my country, for my people will follow you to the death.”

“Well, ’pon my word, Princess,” said Chumbley, merrily, “you are a precious clever, sensible woman, and I like you after all.”

“And I like you,” she said, innocently. “I do not love you, but I like you very much, you seem so brave and true, and what you people call frank. You will help me, will you not, both of you? Think how I appealed to Mr Harley for help – how that almost my life depends upon it – and what did I get but empty words?”

“You did not get much, certainly,” said Chumbley.

“Then talk to your friend, and advise him. He will do what you say.”

“No,” said Chumbley, laughing, “that is just what he will not do. If ever there was a man who would not take my advice, it is Hilton.”

“Try him now that he is here – now that he knows how useless it is to fight against his fate. Speak to him, and speak kindly!” she whispered. “I am going to my women now.”

She took one step towards Hilton, holding out her hand to him in a gentle, appealing manner; but he only bowed distantly, and turned away.

The soft, appealing look passed from the Inche Maida’s face, giving place to an angry frown; but this died out as she turned to Chumbley.

“We two are friends, I hope?” she said, holding out her hand. “You are not angry with me?”

“Well, not very,” he replied, smiling; “one can’t be angry with a woman long for such a trick as this.”

“Yes,” she said, quickly, “it is a trick, as you English call it. I have won the trick.”

“Yes, you have won the trick,” assented Chumbley; “but you don’t hold the honours,” he added to himself.

“I am glad that you are wise,” she said, smiling now. “I will go, and my people shall bring you dinner.”

“Thanks,” said Chumbley; “that is the kindest act you can do to us now; only please forget the poison.”

“Poison!” she cried, indignantly. “How dare you say that to me! You are prisoners here, but you are quite safe while you do not try to escape. Have I done so little to make myself an Englishwoman that you talk of poison?”

“Yes,” said Chumbley to himself, “so little to make yourself an Englishwoman that you play upon us such a trick as this!”

The door opened, the Inche Maida passed through; and as the curtain fell down again and covered the opening, Hilton turned angrily upon his friend.

Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Four.

A Night of Terror

It was night before Helen again woke, and her first thought was of escape; but as she softly rose to a sitting posture, she felt that one of the girls was by her side, and as she listened to her regular breathing, and tried in the darkness to collect her thoughts and to recall exactly where the door and window lay, the black night seemed a little less black just in one particular part of the room, and she realised that the window must lie there.

“If I could get past that window!” thought Helen, with throbbing brain. “I know it would be hard, but still I might make my way to the river and find someone who would be my friend. There must be paths through the jungle.”

Then with a strange aching sense of misery she thought of how little she had done since she had been out there. No one could be more ignorant of the nature of the jungle than she. She remembered that someone had called it impenetrable; but she knew that Dr Bolter went on expeditions to discover gold, and that the Reverend Arthur Rosebury sometimes wandered there.

“Poor Mr Rosebury?” she said, half aloud. “What he could do sorely I could,” and then the blood in her veins seemed to freeze, and a shudder ran through her, for from out of the darkness came a deep, hoarse, snarling roar that she recognised at once as that of some tiger on the prowl.

She was very ignorant of the jungle and its dangers, but she knew that if she should attempt to leave the building where she was imprisoned now, the result would be that she would encounter a foe of whose savage nature the station was full of tales.

The stories of her childhood came back to her then, and she laughed bitterly as she recalled the faith she had once had in the legend of Una and the lion, and familiar histories of how the helpless had been befriended by the savage creatures of the forest. Then, as she thought of her defenceless state, she once more shuddered, and asked herself whether it would not be better to trust herself to the jungle than stay where she was, to encounter one whom she dreaded far more than the creature whose cry she had just heard.

In a fit of desperate energy as her thoughts were fixed upon Murad and the possibility that he might at any time now present himself, Helen softly glided from her couch and began to cross the uneven floor, stepping cautiously from bamboo lath to lath, and shivering as one gave a crack from time to time.

It seemed darker now, and for guide towards the window there was nothing but the faintly-felt sensation of the dank jungle air coming cool against her cheek; but she kept on, thinking nothing of the way she should turn or how she should escape; all that animated her now was the one great idea that she must steal away beyond the power of these two Malay women to recall her. If she could now do that, the rest might prove easy. Something would no doubt offer itself.

“I must, I will escape,” she half wailed, in a whisper that startled her as it fell upon her ear, so full was it of helpless misery and despair.

She paused to listen, for one of the girls had moved, and then, as she stood in the darkness, there was a very faint rustling noise, and Helen felt that her gaoler had risen and was cautiously stealing towards her. So sure was she of this, that she held up one hand to keep her enemy at a distance; but though the sound continued, no one touched her, and the soft rustling came no nearer to where she stood.

She uttered a sigh of misery at her own dread and overwrought imagination, as she now realised the fact that the soft rustling was that of leaves as the night wind stirred them when it passed, for the soft, heavy breathing of the sleepers came regularly to her ear.

It was very strange and confusing, though, for now in that intense darkness she seemed to have lost herself, and she could not tell exactly from which side the heavy breathing came.

Once, as she listened intently, it seemed to grow so loud that it struck her it was the breathing of some monster of the jungle that had stopped by the open window; but soon she recovered herself sufficiently to feel that she was wrong; it was but the regular sleep of her companions, and laying her hand upon her breast to stay the throbbings of her heart, she gathered up the loose sarong that interfered with her progress, and stepped on cautiously towards where she believed the door to be.

Once more the yielding bamboos bent beneath her weight, creaking loudly, and as they cracked at every step the more loudly now that she was walking beyond the rugs, the sounds were so plain in the still night that she tremblingly wondered why her companions did not wake.