Read Online By Eastern windows by Gretta Curran Browne - Free Book Online
Authors: Gretta Curran Browne
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constant vigilance. No suitor could be taken on trust, but subjected to the most thorough scrutiny.
Morley continued staring at the dance-floor where his young sister-in-law was happily dancing with her soldier . . . Macquarie? A Scot from the wilds of nowhere . . . the Scots had a reputation for being a stubborn race . . . but there was not a man in the world more stubborn than he was. And if Macquarie continued to push his luck, he would soon find that out.
THREE
The Ball had ended, all the dining and dancing over. The guests passed out of Government House into the warm night air.
‘I’m holding a picnic in the gardens of my own house on Saturday,’ said John Forbes. ‘For just a few chums. You will come, won’t you?’
Lachlan nodded inattentively. They were standing on the steps of Government House and his eyes were searching the departing crowd cheerily surging towards their carriages and tongas; but he could find no sight of Jane and her guardians.
‘Cricket will be played of course. So extend the invitation to Edward Grant too, will you. Good batsman is Edward, always knows the spot. Come at noon or thereabouts, but no later than one o’clock. Are you listening to me?’
Lachlan stopped searching and looked at John. `Aye, of course I’m listening. A picnic, on Saturday, yes, definitely.’
‘And Edward Grant.’
‘What about him?’
‘I want you to extend my invitation to him also. I’d invite him myself but I can’t find him, so will you do it for me?’
‘I will,’ Lachlan consented, giving up his search of the crowd. John Forbes took his leave, smiling all the way to his carriage as a sudden idea occurred to him, another favour for his young friend.
*
On Saturday, Lachlan expected to find about twenty-five men standing or sitting around on John Forbes's green lawn, but when he and Edward Grant arrived the place was packed, inside and out. The ‘picnic’ was in fact a sumptuous daylong feast served continuously by a troop of servants.
And she was there.
She was standing on the veranda, speaking with a woman old enough to be her grandmother. She seemed ill at ease, fluttering her fan and attempting to act in the genteel and refined manner of all young white ladies in India.
As soon as she saw him her whole demeanour instantly changed – leaning over the veranda rail to speak down to him with all the excited enthusiasm of a starry-eyed girl of sixteen.
‘Miss Jarvis!’ the lady behind her was outraged. A moment later Maria Morley appeared, dragging her young sister away from the rail; and from then on Jane was remorselessly chaperoned.
Fortunately, James Morley had not attended. Even so, it was only due to the constant efforts of John Forbes to distract Maria Morley's attention from her sister, persuading her to step forward and watch the wonderful Edward Grant take the bat, which enabled Lachlan to snatch a short time alone with Jane.
She seemed glad to be able to confide in him again. ‘Most of the women here seem to have never even heard of Antigua,’ she whispered. ‘All they talk about is England, England and dear old Blighty. Why do they call it that?’
‘ Belait ,’ he said smiling. ‘It’s the Hindi word for Britain, only very few of them can say it properly.’
‘The people here are so different to Antigua,’ she continued wistfully. ‘No laughter or fun in any of them, just rules and regulations and decorum at all times.’
‘Aye, that’s the way in British Bombay,’ Lachlan agreed. ‘In time you’ll get used to it.’
Jane shook her head in denial, then turned to him enthusiastically, ‘Tell me some more about your adventures in the West Indies. Banish my homesickness, if just for a little while. Did you like it there? Or did you simply love it?’
Ignoring the cricket, they stood talking together for some time, until Jane clapped her hands and laughed outright, a laugh so full of humour and unrestrained that all the women
Morley continued staring at the dance-floor where his young sister-in-law was happily dancing with her soldier . . . Macquarie? A Scot from the wilds of nowhere . . . the Scots had a reputation for being a stubborn race . . . but there was not a man in the world more stubborn than he was. And if Macquarie continued to push his luck, he would soon find that out.
THREE
The Ball had ended, all the dining and dancing over. The guests passed out of Government House into the warm night air.
‘I’m holding a picnic in the gardens of my own house on Saturday,’ said John Forbes. ‘For just a few chums. You will come, won’t you?’
Lachlan nodded inattentively. They were standing on the steps of Government House and his eyes were searching the departing crowd cheerily surging towards their carriages and tongas; but he could find no sight of Jane and her guardians.
‘Cricket will be played of course. So extend the invitation to Edward Grant too, will you. Good batsman is Edward, always knows the spot. Come at noon or thereabouts, but no later than one o’clock. Are you listening to me?’
Lachlan stopped searching and looked at John. `Aye, of course I’m listening. A picnic, on Saturday, yes, definitely.’
‘And Edward Grant.’
‘What about him?’
‘I want you to extend my invitation to him also. I’d invite him myself but I can’t find him, so will you do it for me?’
‘I will,’ Lachlan consented, giving up his search of the crowd. John Forbes took his leave, smiling all the way to his carriage as a sudden idea occurred to him, another favour for his young friend.
*
On Saturday, Lachlan expected to find about twenty-five men standing or sitting around on John Forbes's green lawn, but when he and Edward Grant arrived the place was packed, inside and out. The ‘picnic’ was in fact a sumptuous daylong feast served continuously by a troop of servants.
And she was there.
She was standing on the veranda, speaking with a woman old enough to be her grandmother. She seemed ill at ease, fluttering her fan and attempting to act in the genteel and refined manner of all young white ladies in India.
As soon as she saw him her whole demeanour instantly changed – leaning over the veranda rail to speak down to him with all the excited enthusiasm of a starry-eyed girl of sixteen.
‘Miss Jarvis!’ the lady behind her was outraged. A moment later Maria Morley appeared, dragging her young sister away from the rail; and from then on Jane was remorselessly chaperoned.
Fortunately, James Morley had not attended. Even so, it was only due to the constant efforts of John Forbes to distract Maria Morley's attention from her sister, persuading her to step forward and watch the wonderful Edward Grant take the bat, which enabled Lachlan to snatch a short time alone with Jane.
She seemed glad to be able to confide in him again. ‘Most of the women here seem to have never even heard of Antigua,’ she whispered. ‘All they talk about is England, England and dear old Blighty. Why do they call it that?’
‘ Belait ,’ he said smiling. ‘It’s the Hindi word for Britain, only very few of them can say it properly.’
‘The people here are so different to Antigua,’ she continued wistfully. ‘No laughter or fun in any of them, just rules and regulations and decorum at all times.’
‘Aye, that’s the way in British Bombay,’ Lachlan agreed. ‘In time you’ll get used to it.’
Jane shook her head in denial, then turned to him enthusiastically, ‘Tell me some more about your adventures in the West Indies. Banish my homesickness, if just for a little while. Did you like it there? Or did you simply love it?’
Ignoring the cricket, they stood talking together for some time, until Jane clapped her hands and laughed outright, a laugh so full of humour and unrestrained that all the women
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