CHAPTER XXXVIIINTO GARHWAL
Rockstone Chotah-Bilat, the joint address of Mrs. Gascoigne and Mrs. Waldershare, was a large well-appointed bungalow, overlooking the prettiest side of the station, approached through a steep terraced garden, full of great bushes of ancient geraniums, and straggling rose trees, and flanked by a few pines.
The house was sufficiently roomy to accommodate half a dozen people; and here the two inmates lived their separate lives, together and yet apart. The partnership was so harmonious as to excite a certain degree of admiration as well as envy; for it is a painful fact that these house-sharing schemes are not invariably a success.
Mrs. Waldershare was charmed with what she termed "a Himalayan Paradise"; her own chief friends were comfortably established at the Casino Hotel, or the Club, and she made a number of new acquaintances. The constant whirl of picnics, tiffins, dinners, dances, incidental to a gay hill station, the opportunity of exhibiting her toilettes, of living without expense, and of enjoying an occasional "game"—all this comprised a phase of existence supremely to Lola's taste. She possessed her own roulette board, and both board and owner were in flattering request. The board accompanied Mrs. Waldershare to luncheon parties, and to teas and dinners at "the Wigwam," and elsewhere. The Wigwam was a pretty littlehouse, occupied by a smart married couple, much given to play of every description; their gay suppers were notorious, and their guests might have been discovered guiltily creeping in to their respective homes, with the dawn. Angel had not paid the usual round of calls, or embarked on the flood-tide of entertainments. She felt no inclination to dance, and suffered from constant neuralgia, and depression. One or two of her friends had sought her, but she declined their invitations; and when a lady resides in an out-of-the-way locality, in a sequestered bungalow, and is disinclined to entertain, or to be entertained, people in the full swing of the season have no leisure to cultivate such a recluse—and leave her severely alone. Mrs. Gascoigne was to be seen at church (at St. John's, in the Wilderness) on Sunday; on week days, rambling far along the unfrequented hill-tracks, merely accompanied by two dogs. To Angel's intimates, Mrs. Waldershare professed a devoted attachment to the dear, sweet girl, a keen anxiety respecting her health, and declared that she was "just a little bit run down," all this being accompanied by effusive encomiums. To her own circle she proclaimed that her house-mate was "peculiar." This, with a significance that led strangers to suppose that Mrs. Gascoigne was eccentric to the verge of imbecility. Lola's manner to Angel was perfect. A mixture of the tender elder sister, and the sincerely attached friend; but she and her hostess did not see much of one another, except at breakfast. Soon after this meal, Mrs. Waldershare's gaily-costumed jampannies (they wore black and yellow livery, andyellow turbans) carried their charming burden away for the whole day, she merely returning home in order to dress, or occasionally to receive the General and Sir Capel. No apologies were necessary, for Angel appreciated solitude, and they each went their own way; for that was understood in an unwritten bond. But when the monsoon broke in the middle of June, the rain descended in steady gray sheets, and roared and battered on the zinc roof of Rockstone, there were no more gay jaunts or excursions down into Chotah-Bilat. The six hill-men shed their wasp-like costumes, and huddled in their brown blankets, or "cumlies," squatted round like a huka, talking scandal and money matters, in their quarters among the pines.
Their employer sat indoors, beside a blazing log fire, inditing sweet little notes on a knee-pad, and knitting ties in becoming shades of purse silk. Angel crouched on the large, square-shaped fender-stool (which was hollow underneath, and a retreat dear to the dogs) and read, and sewed, and talked. For a whole week these two were condemned to a species of solitary confinement. At first, they discoursed of the elements (how Mrs. Waldershare railed against the rains!—the life of India), the forthcoming great fancy ball, and the Chamoli Lake. From lake to Philip was but a short step, and by-and-by Angel found herself listening with eager ears, to stories of her husband's childhood and boyhood. By degrees these anecdotes were merged into tales of Philip as a youth, as a young man—as (here Angel's interest was breathless)—a lover.
Clever Lola drew a sketch of those four supremeyears with the hand of a true artist, permitting the listener's warm imagination to colour and fill in the outlines. Angel contemplated the picture which her own brain completed, with a mixture of anguish, jealousy, and despair. How Philip had loved Lola! though Lola never once said so in plain, cold English; but a broken-off sentence, a look, a quick sigh, imparted more than words. And he had written toherdaily, whilst she, his wife, hungered for two weeks for a line. But then, oh most exacting Angel, there is no daily post in Garhwal; letters had to come one hundred and fifty miles by a very casual Dâk runner.
Lola gave her companion the impression of recalling these poignant recollections, with the deepest reluctance, and all the time the game—which lasted for eight whole days—afforded her the keenest enjoyment. She was as a cat playing with a mouse, and at the end of the play her victim's heart was as lacerated as any little tortured corpse. Angel acknowledged that she had brought this misery entirely upon herself; her anxiety for information had led her into a very cavern of despair. Philip still loved Lola, for according to that lady's dictum, which she humbly accepted, "It is a law of the universe, for a man to love one woman, and none other"; and when Lola turned her wonderful eyes upon her—those eyes, large, mysterious, sad, and visionary—Angel felt that she could not be otherwise than truthful and good. Oh, she must tear that secret feeling of repulsion out of her heart, and be as sincerely attached to Lola, as Lola was to her. She would love her, and befriend her, loyally and faithfully—for Philip's sake.
A gleam of fine weather, a break in the rains, released the two prisoners, and each hastened to repair to her familiar haunts; Lola to the assembly rooms, the Wigwam, and the polo-ground, Angel to take her walks abroad, as far as possible from the giddy throng. She longed to see Philip again, to contemplate him from a new point of view, to endeavour to discover his real attitude towards Lola. But perhaps he would never tell her the truth, he could be a mystery when he chose. Lola was, and ever would be, first in his heart, and she must make up her mind to accept the second place. Angel was absolutely miserable, and as she lingered on the hillsides, watching the ghostly white mists creeping up between the mountains, and filling every ravine and valley, till they touched the spot where she stood, and overwhelmed her, she felt as if a great cloud from which there was no escape, had suddenly descended upon her life.
In these days of their mistress's inaction and depression, Sam and John offered much mute sympathy, and protection. They did not forsake her in order to seek their own amusement—no, not even to meet their friends and foes upon the Mall, but formed her constant bodyguard. At night, Sam occupied the most comfortable chair in her room, whilst John sprawled outside the door on a mat. And he never failed to rise and bark, in order to announce the tardy return of the other lady,—for which officious act, Mrs. Waldershare would have gladly had him poisoned.
Early one morning in July, an imposing head overseer, two chuprassis, and a dozen stout hill-men,were to be found assembled in front of Rockstone. The overseer had brought a letter from "Gascoigne Sahib," and the lady was to start at once, before there was more rain. Angel's heart leaped at the message, it was her order of release. She made joyful preparations for immediate departure—indeed, these preparations had been completed for weeks.
"And pray what is to become of poor me?" inquired Lola in a doleful voice, "where am I to go?"
"You can stay here, till the end of our term of course," responded her hostess.
"And the servants?"
"They can remain too—I am only taking the ayah with me."
"Then I shall ask Mrs. Lacy to keep me company," announced the guest. "I shall be so wretched without you, you dear, sweet, unselfish girl." And this bold lie had a flavour of the truth,—Lola would miss Angel in many ways.
"Very well," assented her hostess, "do just what you please." She was so anxious to depart that she was prepared to promise anything—oh anything, in order to escape. Yes, it had come to that. As long as she was within reach of Lola's extraordinary personal charm, she felt benumbed, a strange, unhappy, powerless mortal. Lola's magnetism and will force were so strong, that Angel shivered inwardly as she realised that if her companion had exerted them to throw obstacles in her path, she would have succumbed, and relinquished this journey to Garhwal. But Lola was content to be left in sole possession of an extremelycomfortable bungalow,—which I regret to say, subsequently became notorious as a gambling den; in fact, the Wigwam sank into insignificance in comparison to Rockstone, for here the play was higher, the seclusion unsurpassed, and the dinners (at Colonel Gascoigne's expense) quite admirable. How little did that officer suppose that the house which he rented, and of which he was the ostensible master, went by the name of "The Den of Thieves."
Angel was presently carried away in her dandy, and as she reached the shoulder of the first hill, drew a long breath—she was conscious of a delightful sense of being released at last, of a sundering of bonds, a recovery of her own individuality. She thoroughly enjoyed the journey, and being borne along higher, and yet higher, into a cooler, clearer atmosphere. First through a part of Kumaon (oh most beautiful Kumaon, with your forests, and lakes, ravines and passes, your exquisite glimpses of the snows, and the plains!) The party gradually left behind them, flat-roofed houses with carved fronts, standing deep in waving yellow crops, and jungles of dahlias and sunflowers, and surrounded by walnut and peach trees. They encountered long strings of melancholy pack ponies with deformed hocks, the result of their bondage from foal time, square-faced women, wearing short heavy skirts and silver ornaments—these latter heirlooms—and now and then a stout little Ghoorka or a shikari. Each night Angel and her ayah halted at a dâk bungalow, where elaborate preparations had been made for the reception of the Engineer's mem sahib. As they advanced further into Garwhary, they met flocks of littlegoats, laden with salt and borax, herded by Bhotias—dirty-looking people with Tartar features, and greasy black hair. The country grew stranger and sterner, they passed along the edges of fathomless ravines, between rugged inaccessible mountains, and Angel realised for the first time the inspiring effect of a wild and brooding solitude, where the almost awful silence was only broken by the muttering of her Pahari bearers, as they passed about the Huka, the scream of a kite, or the bleating of a belated sheep.
One march out of Chamoli, Philip met the party. He seemed glad to see Angel, not to speak of Sam and John, who had journeyed thus far in charge of the coolies, and howled passionate protests at being carried through such splendid sporting country. And what did they not descry, as they were borne along? Monkeys, great lungoors, who threw stones, and gibbered at the party—what dogs of flesh and blood could endure such indignities!
"And how is your lake getting on?" inquired Angel; "nearly full?"
"Rising—slowly but surely. I think it will brim over in about three weeks—perhaps less. It depends on the rains. I'm glad you've got away all right, before the next burst, which is bound to be heavy."
"I began to despair of coming at all—and oh, I was so sick of Bilat."
"How is Lola?" he inquired.
"Very well."
"She is not sick of Bilat, I gather from your letter?"
"No—she is very gay—and in immense request."
"When does she join Edgar?"
"Possibly not at all. I think she is going to join the little baronet in holy matrimony."
"No?" incredulously. "You are not serious?"
"At least he is anxious to marry her,—and honoured me with his confidence."
"Oh, did he?" ejaculated her listener, and for a whole half-mile Philip never once opened his lips, and Angel's heart was sore, she felt convinced that he was thinking of Lola. No, on the contrary, he was buried in a somewhat abstruse mathematical calculation connected with the rainfall. He seldom thought of Lola—now.
"I hope you will be comfortable, Angel," he said at last, "we have run you up a sort of little cabin, well above the water-line; some of the fellows are in tents, and native huts."
"Why, how many are there?" she asked.
"Only three or four. Evans of the Civil Service; Hichens Jones of the D.W.P.; young Brady of the Engineers, a boy with the richest brogue in India."
"How nice—I love a brogue."
"Then you will certainly take to Brady. He is a bright lad—though not very polished—and here is the Lake coming into view—look."
Angel got out of her jampan, and stood to gaze at it, where it lay locked among the mountains. Chamoli Lake was much larger and far more beautiful than she expected. It looked majestically still and dignified, as if it had been lying in the lap of the mountains from ages remote, instead of being the three months' old child of the rainsand the snows. In colour it was a wonderful limpid green, its face was placid and inscrutable, and yet it embodied the dread of thousands. The slip, which left a mark like a scar, had fallen from the side of a precipitous hill, five thousand feet above the bed of the river, and carried the rocks and débris from the right bank, across the valley, and half-way up the hill. There, its energy expended, the mass slipped down into the bed of the stream, forming a dam, composed of masses of enormous rocks. Close to this barrier, but well above it, was a telegraph station, and half a mile further on, at a point outside the dam, and overlooking the lake, and the valley into which it would escape, was a collection of flat stone-roofed huts, the village of Dhuri. Further still, an encampment, a large rest house, and several recently erected wooden huts. One of these had been reserved for Mrs. Gascoigne, and furnished with a certain amount of rude comfort. As she stood at the entrance of her dwelling, and surveyed the great still lake among its towering mountains, the narrow rocky valley with its twisting gorges, and precipitous walls, she found the scene extraordinarily soothing to her spirit—it was so wild—so strange—and so peaceful.
A considerable amount of life was stirring in the camp, and among the huts. There were goats, and big Bhotia ponies, as well as Bhotias themselves. Government officials, telegraph men, signallers, sub-inspectors, and linesmen, also various eagerly interested villagers. There appeared to be incessant traffic between the village, the telegraph, post, and the encampment. Mrs. Gascoignewas elected a member of the little Mess in the Inspection House. They were a cheery party of six in all, who laid their hearts at the feet of this girl resembling a white slender delicate flower (the stalk was of steel). The new recruit's contribution of stores, newspapers, and books proved extremely welcome, and she soon felt perfectly at home, and became the established housekeeper and hostess of the party. Angel took a keen interest in the action of the lake, the gradual rising of the water, the precautions, and daily measurements and calculations. Colonel Gascoigne, on whom lay the responsibility, locked up in that sheet of water, was engaged continually, riding down to other telegraph stations, inspecting cuttings, and protecting the canal works. But his subordinate, Mr. Brady, occasionally took Mrs. Gascoigne about with him. She explored the villages and scrambled up the mountains, rode down the valley on a shaggy Bhotia pony; and in the exquisite mountain air, with its slight hint of the adjacent snowy range, recovered her colour and her spirits. One morning, as she and Mr. Brady and the two dogs were climbing a hill in search of butterflies, he suddenly called out, as he craned over a rock:
"By the pipers that played before Moses! I see a party below on the road making for the camp—a lady—no less, in a dandy—and two men. We shall be a fashionable hill station before we know where we are. Who can they be?"
Angel stood up and leant over to survey the travellers, and controlled her disagreeable surprise as she recognised Lola, Sir Cupid, and the general.