Read Online Wanted: Mail-Order Mistress by Deborah Hale - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Deborah Hale
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spice-bearing varieties. They are part of an experimental garden, a pet project of Sir Stamford Raffles. He had a number of trees and shrubs of commercial value planted here to see if they would thrive. The place has been rather neglected since he left. Our current Resident is more interested in politics than botany.”
He’d barely finished speaking when Bethan grasped his arm once again, holding on a little longer this time. “Oh my gracious, look at those birds! Did you ever see such colours?”
Simon forced his gaze toward a pair of parrots with vivid dark-red plumage and bright blue markings on their faces and wings. Spectacular a sight as they were, he would rather have feasted his eyes on Bethan’s face, aglow with the wonder of discovery.
“You’ll see plenty of those around Singapore,” he assuredher. “There’s another kind even more amazing—feathers every colour of the rainbow, only more vivid. You’d swear they were cast out of emeralds and rubies.”
In truth, he’d never paid much heed to the bright colours of the birds or the soaring height of the trees. When he’d first arrived on the island, he had been too preoccupied with helping Ford and Hadrian establish their business, and trying to forget the humiliating situation he’d left behind in Penang. Now he found himself taking in his surroundings with fresh appreciation.
As the gharry rounded the far side of the hill, Bethan let out a soft gasp. Spread before them was mile after mile of wild, verdant jungle.
“I never thought there could be so many different shades of green,” she whispered.
Simon hadn’t either, though, in his opinion, none of them could match the elusive, mutable grey-green of her eyes. Until now, he’d thought of the surrounding jungle as nothing but a source of danger, harbouring tigers and bands of outlaws. Bethan made him see something more.
They drove on in silence for a while, privately contemplating the lush, untamed grandeur. Only when the road wound higher, bringing the town and the sea back into view did Simon venture to speak again. “The Malays call this Forbidden Hill. They say their kings of long ago are buried here.”
“Does that other hill have a name too?” Bethan pointed towards a slightly lower rise to the north.
Simon nodded. “Selegi Hill, which I’m told means something to do with spears. Captain Flynn and his family live there. He is the harbour-master.”
“Harbour-master?” Bethan sounded more intriguedby that than tales of ancient Malay kings. “Does he have any children Rosalia’s age? Do you ever go there to visit?”
Her questions struck Simon as a trifle odd, but then again Bethan had proven herself an unusual young woman. “The captain does have children—a stepdaughter who’s almost grown and an infant daughter. He has a son Rosalia’s age. Ah-Sam used to take her to visit until the boy was sent to live with relatives in England.”
“A child that age sent so far away from his family?” Bethan fairly trembled with outrage. “How could his parents do such a terrible thing?”
“They didn’t have much choice, I’m afraid,” Simon replied. “His elder brother died and the climate did not agree with him. Surely the child is better off in England than lying in the cemetery.”
Bethan did not seem convinced.
In an effort to distract her, Simon began to point out other sights of interest. “Over there is the dhobi village. They are the Indian laundry folk who wash clothes on the banks of the Kallang River and down there in Bras Basah stream. They have raised the task almost to a science. It amazes me how they get all the laundry back to its proper owners without ever losing a single scrap of linen. I wish I could keep as good an account of Vindicara’s inventory.”
His distraction seemed to work.
Bethan’s frown eased and she surveyed the view from the top of the hill with interest. “I can see your house and your godown by the river. My, what a lot of
He’d barely finished speaking when Bethan grasped his arm once again, holding on a little longer this time. “Oh my gracious, look at those birds! Did you ever see such colours?”
Simon forced his gaze toward a pair of parrots with vivid dark-red plumage and bright blue markings on their faces and wings. Spectacular a sight as they were, he would rather have feasted his eyes on Bethan’s face, aglow with the wonder of discovery.
“You’ll see plenty of those around Singapore,” he assuredher. “There’s another kind even more amazing—feathers every colour of the rainbow, only more vivid. You’d swear they were cast out of emeralds and rubies.”
In truth, he’d never paid much heed to the bright colours of the birds or the soaring height of the trees. When he’d first arrived on the island, he had been too preoccupied with helping Ford and Hadrian establish their business, and trying to forget the humiliating situation he’d left behind in Penang. Now he found himself taking in his surroundings with fresh appreciation.
As the gharry rounded the far side of the hill, Bethan let out a soft gasp. Spread before them was mile after mile of wild, verdant jungle.
“I never thought there could be so many different shades of green,” she whispered.
Simon hadn’t either, though, in his opinion, none of them could match the elusive, mutable grey-green of her eyes. Until now, he’d thought of the surrounding jungle as nothing but a source of danger, harbouring tigers and bands of outlaws. Bethan made him see something more.
They drove on in silence for a while, privately contemplating the lush, untamed grandeur. Only when the road wound higher, bringing the town and the sea back into view did Simon venture to speak again. “The Malays call this Forbidden Hill. They say their kings of long ago are buried here.”
“Does that other hill have a name too?” Bethan pointed towards a slightly lower rise to the north.
Simon nodded. “Selegi Hill, which I’m told means something to do with spears. Captain Flynn and his family live there. He is the harbour-master.”
“Harbour-master?” Bethan sounded more intriguedby that than tales of ancient Malay kings. “Does he have any children Rosalia’s age? Do you ever go there to visit?”
Her questions struck Simon as a trifle odd, but then again Bethan had proven herself an unusual young woman. “The captain does have children—a stepdaughter who’s almost grown and an infant daughter. He has a son Rosalia’s age. Ah-Sam used to take her to visit until the boy was sent to live with relatives in England.”
“A child that age sent so far away from his family?” Bethan fairly trembled with outrage. “How could his parents do such a terrible thing?”
“They didn’t have much choice, I’m afraid,” Simon replied. “His elder brother died and the climate did not agree with him. Surely the child is better off in England than lying in the cemetery.”
Bethan did not seem convinced.
In an effort to distract her, Simon began to point out other sights of interest. “Over there is the dhobi village. They are the Indian laundry folk who wash clothes on the banks of the Kallang River and down there in Bras Basah stream. They have raised the task almost to a science. It amazes me how they get all the laundry back to its proper owners without ever losing a single scrap of linen. I wish I could keep as good an account of Vindicara’s inventory.”
His distraction seemed to work.
Bethan’s frown eased and she surveyed the view from the top of the hill with interest. “I can see your house and your godown by the river. My, what a lot of
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