Last night a man whom she barely knew had held her in his arms and kissed her. In his tender embrace she knew that she had found a safe haven – she had come home. She could still feel the warmth of Sam’s embrace. The taste of him lingered on her tongue and her whole being was consumed by desire for something that she did not fully understand. She had no clear idea of what constituted married love, just the vague rumours that the girls had hinted at in whispers and giggles under cover of darkness when the dormitory was supposed to be sleeping.
Lucetta shuddered with pleasure as she felt her nipples harden. She pulled a face at the girl in the mirror who stood with her feet planted wide apart and her back arched. She shuddered as a warm tingling feeling struck her in the most private of all places and she closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around her
body as she tried to imagine that it was Sam Cutler who caressed her. A man’s arms would not feel soft and rounded like a girl’s. Lucetta had seen navvies at work in the streets with their bare sinewy forearms, their bulging muscles gleaming with sweat and rippling as they moved. She opened her eyes again, staring at herself open-mouthed with horror. She would go to hell for such wicked, lascivious thoughts. She seized the bowl of rapidly cooling water and tipped it over her head.
Trembling with shame and the shock of a sudden drenching, she snatched up her cotton wrap and flung it over the mirror. Water pooled on the tiled floor and she could only hope that Naomi would assume that the spillage was an accident. Having towelled herself dry, Lucetta slipped on her shift and struggled with the laces of her stays, tugging at them until she could hardly breathe. She could hear Miss Milton’s voice ringing in her ears. ‘Self-control, young ladies. Self-control and self-discipline are the two factors that made this nation great. When you go out into the world you must always remember this.’
By the time Naomi arrived with the breakfast tray, Lucetta was sitting primly on the veranda combing her wet hair. The aroma of the coffee mingled with the flower-scented air and Lucetta drank two cups, one after the other. She devoured a plateful of sliced mango and then peeled the wrinkled purple-brown skin off a mangosteen, sinking her teeth into the crisp white segments. She would miss all these exotic fruits when she returned to London. Apples and pears were nothing
compared to sweet, delicately scented star fruit or a succulent, slightly acidic rambutan.
Lucetta sighed. Just thinking of leaving this island paradise made her sad. A few short hours ago she had been dreaming of home and the diversions that she missed most, but meeting Sam had changed all that. She would have been happy to stay here forever, as long as he was with her. She tore a freshly baked bread roll in half, spreading each section with the strawberry jam that Lady Boothby had sent to her in a regular order from Fortnum and Mason’s. While she ate, savouring each mouthful, Lucetta decided that she could not exist for a whole day without seeing Sam. The need for him was consuming her like a fever, and if he could not come to her then she must go to Benoa harbour and seek him out.
There was just one flaw in this plan – Papa had forbidden her to leave the consulate. She must catch him before he left on his next buying expedition, and apologise humbly for her bad behaviour. Despite his gruff manner, she knew that she could wrap Pa round her little finger if she tried, and she was genuinely sorry for causing him so much distress. Perhaps she could persuade him that she was in desperate need of a new riding hat and crop as hers had been taken from her at the temple, and these could be purchased in Denpasar. He might have threatened to stop her allowance but no one could accuse Pa of being mean, and a hat was an absolute necessity in this climate. If he agreed to her request she would take Naomi as chaperone and it couldn’t be too far from the town
to Benoa harbour where she was sure to find the
Caroline
. It was a simple plan and hopefully foolproof.
‘Mr Froy left for the other side of the island shortly before daybreak, miss.’ Jackson, Sir John’s English butler, stared at a point just above Lucetta’s shoulder. ‘I believe a consignment of teakwood furniture has come to grief at the bottom of a ravine.’
‘Do you know when he is expected to return?’ Lucetta asked, assuming an innocent air and trying hard not to look pleased by the unexpected reprieve.
‘No, miss.’
‘Is Sir John at home?’
‘No, miss. Sir John has gone to Lombok on official business and Lady Boothby is at the hospital, as is her custom on this day of the week.’
‘And my mother?’
‘Is in her room. She is not to be disturbed.’
‘Thank you, Jackson.’ Lucetta could hardly believe her good luck. She watched Jackson as he stalked off towards the servants’ quarters with an irritated hunch of his shoulders. She knew that he did not approve of her, or her nouveau riche parents, but she did not care. Today nothing was going to upset her. This was the beginning of the rest of her life and that life included Samuel Cutler.
She hurried back to her room where Naomi was clearing the breakfast things and a maid was mopping the wet floor.
‘Leave that, Naomi,’ Lucetta said, taking the tray from her hands and thrusting it at the astonished
maidservant. ‘Please tell the girl to take it back to the kitchen. You and I are going to Denpasar.’
Lucetta shooed the maid out of the room, closing the door behind her. ‘Denpasar,’ she repeated, pointing to Naomi and then to herself. ‘You and me. We go to Denpasar now, this minute. No time to lose.’ Without waiting for a response, she went to the heavily carved wardrobe and selected a straw bonnet with blue ribbons that exactly matched the shade of her eyes, and a lace shawl. Her fingers shook with excitement as she put the bonnet on her head and tied the ribbons in a jaunty bow just below her left ear. She draped the shawl around her shoulders and made for the door, but then she realised that Naomi was standing like a statue in the middle of the room. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t look so scared. We’re only going to Denpasar, not the moon.’
Naomi shook her head. ‘
Tan, missy. Tan.
’
Lucetta understood enough Balinese to know that this was a point blank refusal. She could hardly drag the unwilling maid all the way to the docks and there was no one else whom she could trust to accompany her without reporting to Jackson. She would just have to go alone.
In the stables, the head groom met her request with a firm refusal. Sir John and Lady Boothby had taken both carriages and he had strict instructions that Missy should not ride out alone. Lucetta tried everything but no amount of wheedling could make him change his mind, and she was forced to retreat, temporarily beaten. Reluctantly, she returned to her room, pacing the floor
and racking her brains for a solution to her problem. She took off her bonnet and tossed it onto a chair where a length of songket, a beautiful fabric used for ceremonial sarongs, had been left to await the dressmaker who was supposed to be coming later that morning in order to take her measurements. The delicate material interwoven with gold thread would make a stunning evening gown, but suddenly Lucetta had another use for it.
She fumbled with the tiny fabric-covered buttons at the back of her morning gown and stepped out of the crinoline cage, allowing it to glide to the floor. Taking a white cotton blouse from her wardrobe she put it on and then, copying the manner of dress of the Balinese women, she wrapped the length of cloth around her body to form a sarong. She studied her reflection in the cheval mirror, but to her chagrin she looked like a young English girl in fancy dress. With her pale complexion and silver-blonde hair she would never pass as a local girl. She rummaged feverishly in the cedar chest and found a long, multi-coloured silk scarf which she wound around her head. The result was far from convincing, but, she reasoned, who would give her a second glance? If she kept her head down and stuck to the shade of the pandanus and palm trees, who would notice yet another village girl hurrying to market in Denpasar?
Slipping out of the consulate grounds was easier than she anticipated. The gatekeeper was busy raking the gravel and the rest of the servants were going about their daily tasks. No one gave her a second glance as
she left the compound. She crossed the dusty road and set off in the direction of the town, but she had no idea how far it was. It had only seemed a short carriage ride from the harbour to the consulate, but she soon found that walking in the heat of the day was a very different proposition from being driven in the consul’s well-sprung landau. Within minutes she was hot and thirsty and cursing herself for not thinking of equipping herself with a water bottle. She had some coins tucked into her bodice for emergencies and with luck she might come across a wayside vendor selling coconut milk. As the sun rose in the cloudless sky the heat became even more intense; far hotter than she could have imagined when confined to the marble coolness of the consulate or the shady gardens.
A cloud of dust in the distance and the muffled sound of horses’ hooves was enough to send her stumbling for cover into the thick undergrowth at the side of the road. The riders went past at a spanking pace, throwing up miniature dust storms. Choking and covering her face with her hands, Lucetta backed further into the tangle of pandanus roots and oleander bushes. She did not hear the snap of a twig or realise that there was someone else hiding in the undergrowth until a rough hand clamped over her mouth, and strong arms lifted her off her feet. She fought and kicked but she was powerless to save herself from being dragged deeper and deeper into the bush.
‘Shut your face, you little whore.’
The harsh cockney accent ripped through Lucetta’s consciousness. The smell of unwashed flesh made her feel physically sick, but she was more angry than afraid. Struggling and kicking out with her feet she sank her teeth into the grimy hand that covered her mouth. Her attacker loosened his grip with a grunt of pain and she stumbled, clutching at an overhanging branch to save herself from falling. She backed away from the man, who was sucking his injured hand and glaring as if he would like to finish her off there and then. ‘You’ve made a big mistake. Just wait until the consul hears about this.’
‘Bloody hell, Stranks. You’ve snatched an Englishwoman.’
Lucetta turned her head to stare at the speaker, who lay on a matted bed of dry leaves, his right leg twisted in a most unnatural position. ‘Yes, I’m English, and you’ll both end up in jail if you don’t let me go this instant.’
‘Hoity-toity, begging your pardon, ma’am.’ The man called Stranks executed a mocking bow. ‘If I’d have known you was a lady, I’d have asked your permission afore I grabbed you.’
‘I–I’m not a lady. I’m a lady’s maid and you’d better let me go, or my master will have the law on you.’
‘Send the trollop on her way, Stranks,’ the man on the ground muttered wearily. ‘We don’t want no more trouble than we got already.’
‘Shut up, Guthrie, and let me think.’ Stranks wiped his bruised hand on the seat of his pants, staring hard at Lucetta. ‘What’s an English maidservant doing in them fancy duds, then? Answer me that?’
‘I know who you are,’ Lucetta said slowly. ‘You’re the escaped convicts that the men from the British merchant ship were looking for.’
‘You know a lot more than is good for you, and I don’t believe you’re a lady’s maid,’ Stranks said suspiciously. ‘Who are you, girl?’
Guthrie raised himself on his elbow, wincing with pain. ‘We’re done for, mate. Might as well give ourselves up.’
‘Shut up, you fool.’ Stranks spat on the ground, just missing Lucetta’s feet. ‘D’you want to go back to London clapped in irons? It’ll mean the gallows for certain.’
‘How far d’you think we’ll get with my leg busted?’ Guthrie collapsed onto the ground with a low moan, covering his face with his arm.
Lucetta watched in horror as a huge centipede appeared from the rotting vegetation and scuttled across his body to disappear into the folds of his shirt. She held her breath, waiting for him to realise that something strange was happening, but he didn’t appear to notice. ‘Your friend needs a doctor,’ she said
in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘And the thing that just crawled inside his clothes could be poisonous.’
‘Shut your face,’ Stranks said, fisting his hands. ‘One more charge against me won’t make no difference, so you button your lip.’
Lucetta was quick to hear the note of panic in his voice. ‘If you don’t let me go there’ll be another search party and this time they’ll be looking for me. You can’t exactly make a run for it with him in that condition, now can you?’
‘Stop going on at me,’ Stranks muttered through gritted teeth. ‘I ain’t never hit a woman, but there’s always the first time.’
Lucetta turned her back on him and she knelt on the ground beside Guthrie, running her fingers gently along the contour of his twisted limb. ‘It’s broken all right and the bone has come through the skin. He must get medical attention or the wound will go septic in this heat.’
Guthrie let his arm fall to his side. ‘Oh, God. I’ll lose me leg. I’ll die of gangrene. I’m burning up already.’
Lucetta laid her hand on his forehead. ‘He might have a fever. It’s hard to tell.’
‘Then you fix him up, girlie,’ Stranks said brusquely. ‘We got to get away from here afore they finds us.’
‘I can’t do anything without clean water and bandages. Anyway, I don’t know how to set bones. He must see a doctor.’
Stranks seized her by the arm, his strong fingers bruising her soft flesh as he dragged her to her feet. He ripped the scarf from her head. ‘There’s yer
bandages, the water will have to wait. Now get on with it.’
Lucetta’s blonde hair swung loose around her shoulders as he shook her until her teeth rattled. ‘Let me go, you big brute.’ She was terrified, but she was determined not to let it show. ‘If you want me to help him I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise anything.’
Stranks pushed her away from him, wiping the beads of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. ‘Just see to him then.’
Lucetta frowned as she tried to remember what had happened when the gardener’s boy at the Academy fell from an apple tree. The branch that he had been pruning had given way beneath his weight and his screams of pain had been heart-rending. The girls had stood round helplessly, some of them in tears and others pale with shock and unnaturally silent. When the doctor arrived he had taken charge of the scene in the most admirable way. He had instructed the agitated teachers to take the distraught girls back into the building, and he had organised those who wanted to help, which had included Lucetta, to go in search of wooden slats to provide support for the injured limb before the boy was hefted onto a hurdle and carried back to his surgery.