Prudence Pursued (5 page)

“The
Royalist
is 142-ton merchant schooner,” Brownell put in, with a wink of his good eye. “I told the Dyak chieftain mine was but a small vessel, that there are much bigger ships in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, but I do not think the old fellow believed me.”

“I was told you let the natives scramble aboard the vessel, like a pack of monkeys!” Arthur said.

Brownell chuckled. “Yes, and when one of them spit a mouthful of betel juice all over the newly-scrubbed deck, I thought my men would start a war.”

“I do not know why you invited them onboard in the first place,” Lady Brownell said, smoothing her skirt. “What were you thinking? They are savages after all.”

“It was Sunday. I intended to read to them from the Gospel of Mark,” he replied. “I am not sure they found it at all edifying. But then, I daresay I needed the instruction more than they.”

“How can you say so, Sir James?” Eleanor stammered in protest. “You’re jesting, are you not? They are heathen! Arthur has told me how they hang dried human heads from the rafters of their huts, with sea shells stuck in the empty eye sockets.”

“The Dyaks?” Prudence inquired, astonished. She recalled what Sir James had told her yesterday about the tribe and how he’d admitted he admired them. But how could he admire a tribe of headhunters who followed such savage customs? She felt confused and impatient with her confusion. What a complex man he was!

“I do not jest, Mrs. Greenwood,” he said, his face sobering. “They are ignorant of God’s word, it is true. But it would be dangerous, in a moral sense, for me to feel superior to them, don’t you see? I am but a sinner myself.”

Prudence eyed him suspiciously. Was this false modesty? She noted how Eleanor blushed and ducked her head to one side before murmuring her response, “Yes, I see.”

“James, can you not think of something more appropriate to talk about when in company?” his mother complained with a shake of her head. “One minute it is the smallpox and the next moment you are discussing headhunters.”

“Mrs. Greenwood, I beg your pardon,” he said turning to Dorothea. “I have put my dear mama to the blush yet again.” His manner was anything but repentant, Prudence noted. “Come, Arthur, we must be on our way,” he added, turning to the vicar.

“I shall be with you in a moment. I’ll just get my bathing kit and meet you downstairs,” he promised. Arthur then excused himself. Eleanor, with a quick smile for Prudence followed him out of the drawing room.

When Lady Brownell rose, so did Dorothea and Prudence. “Lady Brownell, are you leaving too?” Dorothea asked.

“Yes, she kept the carriage waiting,” Sir James answered for his mother. Turning to Prudence, he said, “She owns a bright blue coach with a crest emblazoned upon the door. She rides through the town as though she were a duchess. Such extravagance!”

Smiling, his mother shrugged a shoulder, apparently used to her son’s teasing manner. “Pay him no mind, Miss Pentyre. He does so love to tease me about my little indulgences.” Turning to Dorothea, Lady Brownell said, “I wanted to ask if you would come to dinner tomorrow evening. It will be a casual affair. Arthur and Eleanor are invited too, of course. We thought you might like to see some of the relics James brought back from his voyage.”

Dorothea’s face brightened. “Yes, we would love it above all things, Arthur particularly. He is intrigued by the Far East and quite fascinated by Sir James’s adventures there, as you know.”

“You are invited as well, Miss Pentyre,” Lady Brownell said, turning to Prudence with a gracious smile.

Before Prudence could demure, Sir James said, “Please say you will come. My mother is a fond and over-proud parent. She loves to show off the bullet.” He tapped his lame leg. “She keeps it under glass, don’t you know?”

“So I have been told,” Prudence said. She wasn’t certain she wanted to spend an entire evening in Sir James’s company.

As though sensing her reluctance, he added, “She has already sent ‘round an invitation to Miss Leyes and your aunt. Naturally, you are included in the invitation, so you need not feel as though you’re pushing in.”

Prudence frowned. She found his manner infuriating. One minute he was serious and attractive in a brusque, but manly way. The next moment he was teasing and impudent.

“Do not frown at me, Miss Pentyre,” he whispered, leaning closer. He glanced sidelong at his mother and Dorothea Greenwood, who were discussing something between themselves. “I am sorry to see neither you nor Margaret have a keen sense of humor. It must be a family trait—one that should be remedied. You need to smile more often. When you do, it quite transforms your face.”

“Our family is not lacking in this regard,” Prudence protested. “We simply don’t appreciate the ridiculous.”

“Bah,” he muttered softly. “You go to the Pump Room and parade around the hall, putting yourself on view like so much horseflesh at Tattersall’s. Also, because it is the current fashion, you drink the disgusting water there, even though it smells and tastes foul. How can you say you do not appreciate the ridiculous?”

Prudence’s mouth quivered. The insufferable man had a point. He grinned at her. She thought his face also appeared transformed when he smiled. “I don’t know why Margaret should consider putting up with you,” she told him.

His grin broadened. “She’s got gumption, that’s why. I like a girl with an ounce or two of steel in her,” he insisted. “I could never marry one of those tame, clinging creatures—no matter how pretty or well connected she might be.”

****

Later, as Prudence walked the short distance between Dorothea Greenwood’s residence and her aunt’s, she found herself in a slow, simmering temper. If pressed to give a reason for her sudden ill humor, she would not have been able to do so. Rather than agreeing with Sir James’s assessment of Margaret as a “girl with an ounce or two of steel in her,” Prudence took exception to it. While she wouldn’t describe her younger cousin as “tame” and “clinging,” Margaret had no spunk either and certainly no steel. But on second thought, perhaps she did. Margaret had, thus far, stubbornly refused to give in to her mother’s wishes to marry Sir James!

Did she, herself, boast an ounce or two of steel? Prudence pondered the possibility. If so, she would consider trading it for a modicum of beauty. Her mother had told her once beauty was not necessary to find happiness. “I want you to be happy, even if you do not ever make a splendid alliance,” Mrs. Pentyre had said at the time.

But was she happy? She was generally content and affable, Prudence admitted to herself. As a vicar’s daughter, she had to be. It was expected. But unlike her sister Patience, Prudence had never excelled at the usual female arts: her singing was mediocre, and her playing of the pianoforte mechanical at best. She could not paint or sculpt. She was, however, competent with a needle and spent a great deal of time stitching clothing for widows and orphans. So, she was certainly useful. But was she happy?

Her thoughts retreated from this question and focused once again upon Sir James Brownell. She’d made up her mind last night, as she prepared for bed and said her prayers, to approve of Sir James Brownell as her cousin’s suitor—for Aunt Judith’s sake, if no other. Her aunt had insisted the man was generous and accommodating. That was one view. At Lady Oldenfield’s, Prudence had concluded he was quite full of himself. She felt strongly opposed to liking him. He was brusque, even crass. But today she’d seen a softer side to Sir James—he appeared to be a gentle and caring friend, happy to assist his old school chum Arthur Greenwood on the road to recovery. She had observed how he enjoyed verbal sparring as well as fighting pirates, but his brusque exterior and brash manner masked a surprisingly tender heart.

It began to drizzle. Prudence scowled, quickening her pace. She was slightly damp when she reached her aunt’s house, which only increased her sour mood. Despite the gloominess of the day, Aunt Judith had not had the fires lit. Prudence retrieved a shawl from her room before joining Margaret and Aunt Judith in the drawing room, where she found her cousin perusing a number of dress patterns. Her aunt reclined on the sofa, dozing, a lap shawl thrown over her legs.

Giving the skirt of her gown a sharp twitch, Prudence glanced disapprovingly at the cold hearth. A small fire would have been most welcome. She took the chair next to Margaret’s and said, “Dorothea Greenwood sends her regards. She will see you both tomorrow evening at Lady Brownell’s. We’ve been invited to dine, I am told.”

Judith’s eyes snapped open. “You will enjoy it, Pru. Eliza has a most excellent cook.”

“I shall look forward to it then,” she replied. Turning to Margaret, Prudence added, “Sir James was there.”

“Oh?” Margaret’s tone was flat and uninterested. She didn’t even bother to look up from the dress patterns.

“He came to take Reverend Arthur Greenwood to the mineral baths,” Prudence went on. “The man is so…” she floundered, trying to find the right word to describe him. She settled for
odd
.

“You find Reverend Greenwood odd?” Margaret asked, looking up at last, her eyes wide with astonishment. “In what way, I wonder?”

“No, Sir James,” Prudence corrected her.

“But Sir James is not odd!” her aunt protested. “He’s a perfect gentleman.”

Prudence held her tongue. She felt the word
perfect
could not—did not—apply to Sir James Brownell in any circumstance.

“No doubt you will find his collection of Oriental relics to be quite interesting,” Judith went on.

“Including the bullet under glass?” Prudence asked dryly.

Margaret gave a most unladylike snort. “Did he boast of his new title?” she asked pettishly.

“What new title?” Prudence asked.

“Sir James is a rajah, or so he says.” Margaret shrugged a shoulder.

“Whatever do you mean? Some sort of Oriental tribal king?”

“Exactly so!” Judith exclaimed. “Can you imagine it?” She readjusted the shawl across her lap.

Prudence stared at both of them and blinked. “You’re roasting me!”

“It is true,” her aunt insisted. “So extraordinary.”

Before Prudence could pursue the matter more fully, guests were announced: Clarissa and Harry Paige. They were shown into the drawing room. Margaret rose with alacrity to greet her friends, embracing Clarissa warmly and extending a hand to Harry. Margaret’s face flushed prettily, as she squeezed his hand. Then beaming at his sister, she pulled Clarissa over to sit next to her on the settee. Prudence realized how fond her cousin was of the handsome pair. Margaret was certainly never this animated around Sir James.

“Mrs. Leyes, our mother sent this with her compliments,” Clarissa said, holding forth a small green medicinal bottle. “She insists this tincture is just what one needs to cure peptic ulcers.”

Prudence watched her aunt’s face light up, apparently pleased with the prospect of trying a new medicinal remedy and touched by Mrs. Paige’s thoughtfulness as well. While Judith inquired politely about the health of Clarissa’s mother, Harry nodded at Prudence and then asked Margaret how she was faring, following the previous day’s vaccination.

“As you can see, it is merely a scratch,” Margaret answered him. She extended her arm, pulling back the loose sleeve of her garment so Harry could examine the wound. “It has not yet become red and swollen.”

“In another few days it will,” Harry assured, holding her arm gently.

As he spoke with her regarding the vaccination procedure, Prudence studied his profile and compared it to his sister’s. If one did not know better, one would assume they were fraternal twins. She couldn’t help comparing young Harry to Sir James as well. While the younger man was certainly not a dandy, she noted he dressed more fashionably and took more care when tying his neck cloth. Although personable, his manner was quiet and retiring compared to Sir James’s bolder personality.

Margaret glanced up then and noticed Prudence watching her. She blinked once or twice, and then pulled her arm from Harry’s grasp. “Harry, you must tell Prudence about the title the natives of Borneo have conferred upon Sir James. He is the rajah of something or another, is he not? I can’t remember the details.”

Harry regarded Prudence with becoming shyness. “I would be happy to explain what I know, Miss Pentyre,” he assured her. “Sir James is indeed the Rajah of Sarawak. And following his extraordinary success in putting down the pirates there and keeping the harbor safe for British trading vessels, His Majesty has made him a Confidential Agent too.”

“What does it mean?” Mrs. Leyes inquired, pulling her attention from her bottle of tincture.

“Sir James is allowed to represent the British government in certain political situations regarding the island,” Harry explained. “He may act independently, as long as he ensures the foreign princes are friendly toward the Crown and resist all efforts of piracy.”

“Tell me what you know of his injuries,” Prudence said, wishing to pursue the subject further. She decided to learn all she could about Sir James Brownell. She noted, however, how Margaret appeared uninterested in the topic, having addressed Clarissa to show her the patterns she’d been considering. Had Aunt Judith noticed this lack of interest each time Sir James was the topic of conversation? It quite smacked of boredom, if not rudeness. Was it this sort of behavior her aunt wanted Prudence to help amend?

“I am told the battle lasted nearly five hours,” Harry explained. His eyes glowed with excitement. “I will not go into detail. The battle was quite gruesome and the particulars not fit for a lady’s ears, but I can report two Englishmen were killed and a dozen injured. Sir James said the Malays fought like tigers. Still, he defeated the pirates, killing more than fifty of them before all was said and done.”

After a moment’s consideration, Prudence said, “I fear Sir James is a man fond of war.”

“I think not,” Harry argued. “Those murderous pirates had to be put down. They’ve killed thousands of people, including Chinese merchants, Spanish traders and many of the local natives—the Dyaks. Sir James lost many friends and acquaintances among the natives in the battle, I am told. The loss grieves him still.”

“But surely the title of rajah is an honorary one?” Prudence insisted.

“Not at all, Miss Pentyre,” he told her. “Sir James is actually the head of the government in Sarawak. I believe there are some twelve thousand residents, not including the Chinese traders and their families. Sir James wrested power from an unscrupulous sultan who abetted the pirates and has since established law and order on the island. Now all the local chieftains must report to him.”

“Who then is in charge while Sir James is recuperating here in Bath?” she wanted to know.

“I cannot say,” Harry admitted, shrugging. “You must ask him yourself.”

“My cousin was saying just moments before you arrived how she finds Sir James rather odd.” Margaret regarded her friends with raised eyebrows.

Harry gasped his disbelief. Clarissa fluttered. “You cannot mean it, Miss Pentyre? He is quite the hero. Harry says so,” she declared with a nod.

Prudence blushed. She could feel the heat in her cheeks creeping down her neck when Aunt Judith attempted to come to her rescue. “I believe Prudence is merely put off by his awkward limp and the dreadful eye patch,” she stammered. “One must admit, his complexion is sadly burned too.”

“I quite like him,” Harry said, coming to the man’s defense. “I admire him too. I have volunteered to go with him when he returns to Borneo—in any capacity he chooses.”

“When is this to be?” Prudence asked, glancing sidelong at Margaret, who had focused her attention once again on those most fascinating of dress patterns.

“I cannot say,” Harry told her. “He must first recover his health, and I believe he intends to put his country estate in order as well.”

“I understand he intends to take a wife too, or so Lady Eliza has told me,” Aunt Judith threw in, casting a poignant glance at her daughter.

A heavy silence followed this casual announcement. Prudence glanced first at Margaret and then at Clarissa. How much had her cousin confided in her closest friend, Prudence wondered?

Clearing her throat, Prudence asked, “And does Sir James intend to take his bride with him back to the jungles of Borneo?”

After a rather uncomfortable pause, Harry answered in a nonchalant manner, “I believe so. But I cannot say for sure. I am not in his confidence.”

Prudence looked down at her fingers, laced so tightly together in her lap the knuckles appeared white. She took a deep breath and unclasped her hands. If Margaret were to marry Sir James, she would presumably become the Rani of Sarawak. She tried to imagine Margaret living in a palace of bamboo, surrounded by a dense jungle with lurking crocodiles and dark-eyed headhunters. Her cousin would definitely need every ounce of steel she could muster.