CHAPTER XIII.TOBY JOY.
Letter from Mrs. Brande, Allahabad,to Pelham Brande, Esq., Shirani:—
“Dear P.“She arrived yesterday, so you may expect us on Saturday. Send Nubboo down to Nath Tal Dâk Bungalow on Thursday, to cook our dinner, and don’t allow himmorethansixcoolies andonepony. Honor seems to feel the heat a great deal, though she is thin, and not fat like me. At first sight, I must tell you, I wasterriblydisappointed. When I saw her step out of the railway carriage, a tall girl in a crumpled white dress, with a hideous bazar topee, and no puggaree—her facevery pale and covered with smuts, I felt ready to burst into tears. She looked very nervous and surprised too. However, of course I said nothing, she wasn’t to know that I had asked for thepretty one, and we drove back to the Hodsons’ both in the very lowest spirits. She was tired, the train had broken down, and they had all to get out and walk miles in the middle of the night. After a while, when she had had her tea, and a bath, and a real good rest, and changed her dress, I declare I thought it was another person, when she walked into the room. I found her uncommonly good-looking, and in five minutes’ time she seemed really pretty. She has a lovely smile and teeth to match, and fine eyes, and when she speaks her face lights up wonderfully. Her hair is brown, just plain brown, no colour in it, but very thick and fine. I know you will be awfully disappointed in her complexion, as you were such a one for admiring a beautiful skin. She has notgot any at all.“Just a pale clear colour and no more, but her figure is most beautiful. Indeed, every time I look at her I notice something new; now the nape of her neck, now her ears—all just so many models. She is, of course, a little shy and strange, but is simple and easily pleased; and, thank goodness, has nogrand airs. I took her to Madame Peter (such stuff her calling herself Pierre) to order some gowns for dinner parties. I thought of a figured yellow satin and a ruby plush, she being dark; but she would nothearof them, and all she would take was a couple of cottons. I can see she wants to choose her own clothes, and that she would like to have a say inminetoo; and knows a good deal about dress, and fashions, and is clever at milinery (I always forget if there are two ‘L’s,’ but you won’t mind). She says she is fond of dancing and tennis, but cannot ride or sing, which is a pity.“She has brought a fiddle with her, and sheplayson it, she tells me. It remindsmeof a blind beggar with a dog for coppers,but the Hodsons say it is all the go at home; they admire Honor immensely.“I suppose Mrs. Langrishe’s girl has arrived. I hear she is no taller than sixpence worth of half-pence, but thebiggest flirtin India.“Yours affectionately,“Sarabella Brande.“P.S.—I hope Ben is well, and that he will take to her.”
“Dear P.
“She arrived yesterday, so you may expect us on Saturday. Send Nubboo down to Nath Tal Dâk Bungalow on Thursday, to cook our dinner, and don’t allow himmorethansixcoolies andonepony. Honor seems to feel the heat a great deal, though she is thin, and not fat like me. At first sight, I must tell you, I wasterriblydisappointed. When I saw her step out of the railway carriage, a tall girl in a crumpled white dress, with a hideous bazar topee, and no puggaree—her facevery pale and covered with smuts, I felt ready to burst into tears. She looked very nervous and surprised too. However, of course I said nothing, she wasn’t to know that I had asked for thepretty one, and we drove back to the Hodsons’ both in the very lowest spirits. She was tired, the train had broken down, and they had all to get out and walk miles in the middle of the night. After a while, when she had had her tea, and a bath, and a real good rest, and changed her dress, I declare I thought it was another person, when she walked into the room. I found her uncommonly good-looking, and in five minutes’ time she seemed really pretty. She has a lovely smile and teeth to match, and fine eyes, and when she speaks her face lights up wonderfully. Her hair is brown, just plain brown, no colour in it, but very thick and fine. I know you will be awfully disappointed in her complexion, as you were such a one for admiring a beautiful skin. She has notgot any at all.
“Just a pale clear colour and no more, but her figure is most beautiful. Indeed, every time I look at her I notice something new; now the nape of her neck, now her ears—all just so many models. She is, of course, a little shy and strange, but is simple and easily pleased; and, thank goodness, has nogrand airs. I took her to Madame Peter (such stuff her calling herself Pierre) to order some gowns for dinner parties. I thought of a figured yellow satin and a ruby plush, she being dark; but she would nothearof them, and all she would take was a couple of cottons. I can see she wants to choose her own clothes, and that she would like to have a say inminetoo; and knows a good deal about dress, and fashions, and is clever at milinery (I always forget if there are two ‘L’s,’ but you won’t mind). She says she is fond of dancing and tennis, but cannot ride or sing, which is a pity.
“She has brought a fiddle with her, and sheplayson it, she tells me. It remindsmeof a blind beggar with a dog for coppers,but the Hodsons say it is all the go at home; they admire Honor immensely.
“I suppose Mrs. Langrishe’s girl has arrived. I hear she is no taller than sixpence worth of half-pence, but thebiggest flirtin India.
“Yours affectionately,“Sarabella Brande.
“P.S.—I hope Ben is well, and that he will take to her.”
Honor had also written home announcing her arrival, dwelling on her aunt’s kindness, and making the best of everything, knowing that long extracts from her letter would be read aloud to inquiring friends. She felt dreadfully home-sick, as she penned her cheerful epistle. How she wished that she could put herself into the envelope, and find herself once more in that bright but faded drawing-room, with its deep window-seats, cosy chairs, and tinkling cottage piano. Every vase and bowl would be crammed with spring flowers. Jessie would be pouringout tea, whilst her mother was telling her visitors that she had had a nice long letter from Honor, who was in raptures with India, and as happy as the day was long!
She took particular care that her tears did not fall upon the paper, as she penned this deceitful effusion. It was dreadful not to see one familiar face or object. This new world looked so wide, and so strange. She felt lost in the immense bedroom in which she was writing—with its bare lofty walls, matted floor, and creaking punkah. A nondescript dog from the stables had stolen in behind one of the door chicks. She called to it, eager to make friends. Surely dogs were dogs the whole world over!—but the creature did not understand what she said, simply stared interrogatively and slunk away. She saw many novel sights, as she drove in the cool of the evening in Mrs. Hodson’s roomy landau, along the broad planted roads of Allahabad, and watched the bheesties watering the scorching white dust, which actuallyappeared to steam and bubble; she beheld rattling ekkas, crammed with passengers, and drawn by one wicked-looking, ill-used pony; orderlies on trotting camels; fat native gentlemen in broughams, lean and pallid English sahibs in dog-carts. It was extremely warm; the so-called “evening breeze” consisted of puffs of hot wind, with a dash of sand. Most of the Allahabad ladies were already on the hills.
Mrs. Brande was far too well-seasoned an Anglo-Indian not to appreciate the wisdom of travelling in comfort. She had her own servants in attendance, and plenty of pillows, fans, ice, fruit, and eau-de-Cologne; far be it fromherto journey with merely a hand-bag and parasol!
Honor in a comfortable corner, with several down cushions at her back, and a book on her knee, sat staring out on the unaccustomed prospect that seemed to glide slowly past the carriage windows. Here was a different country to that which she had already traversed: great tracts ofgrain, poppies, and sugar cane, pointed to the principal products of the North West. She was resolved to see and note everything—even to the white waterfowl, and the long-legged cranes which lounged among the marshes—so as to be able to write full details in the next home letter.
As they passed through the Terai—that breathless belt of jungle—the blue hills began to loom largely into the view. Finally, the train drew up at a platform almost at the foot of them, and one phase of the journey was over.
Honor could not help admiring her aunt, as she stepped out with an air that betokened that she was now monarch of all she surveyed (she was encased in a cream-coloured dust-cloak and topee to match, and looked like an immense button mushroom). She briefly disposed of clamouring coolies, gave orders to her attendants in vigorous Hindustani, and led the way to the back of the station, where were a collection of long open boxes—each box had a seat, andwas tied to two poles—and all were assembled in the midst of a maddening din and accents of an unknown tongue.
“We go in these jampans,” explained Mrs. Brande, briskly. “Get in, Honor, and I’ll pack you up; tie on your veil, put your rug over your knees, and you will be very comfortable.”
But Honor felt quite the reverse, when she found herself suddenly hoisted up on men’s shoulders, and borne rapidly away in the wake of her aunt, who seemed perfectly at home under similar circumstances.
For some time they kept to a broad metalled road lined with great forest trees, then they went across a swing-bridge, up a narrow steep path, that twisted among the woods, overhanging the rocky bed of an almost dry river. This so-called bridle-path wound round the hills for miles, every sharp curve seemed to bring them higher; once they encountered a drove of pack ponies thundering down on their return journey to the plains, miserable thin littlebeasts, who never seem to have time to eat—or, indeed, anything to eat, if theyhadleisure. Mrs. Brande and her party met but few people, save occasionally some broad-shouldered coolie struggling upward with a huge load bound on his back, and looking like a modern Atlas. Once they passed a jaunty native girl, riding a pony, man fashion, and exchanging gibes and repartees with her companions, and once they met a European—a young man dressed in flannels and a blazer, clattering down at break-neck speed, singing at the top of his voice, “Slattery’s Mounted Foot”—a curly-headed, sunburnt, merry youth, who stopped his song and his steed the moment he caught sight of Mrs. Brande.
“Hallo!” he shouted. “Welcome back! Welcome the coming. Speed,” laying his hand on his heart, “the parting guest.”
“Where are you off to?” inquired the lady imperiously.
“Only to the station. We are gettingup grand theatricals; and in spite of coolies, and messages, and furious letters, none of our properties have been forwarded, and I began to suspect that the Baboo might be having a play of his own, and I am going down to look him up. Am I not energetic? Don’t I deserve a vote of public thanks?”
“Pooh! Your journey is nothing,” cried Mrs. Brande, with great scorn. “Why, I’ve been to Allahabad, where the thermometer is 95° in the shade.”
“Yes, down in all the heat, and for a far more worthy object,” glancing at Honor. “You may rely on me, I shall see that you are recommended for a D.S.O.”
“What an impudent boy you are!” retorted the matron; and half turning her head, she said to her companion, “Honor, this is Mr. Joy—he isquitemad. Mr. Joy, this is my niece, Miss Gordon, just out from England” (her invariable formula).
Mr. Joy swept off his topee to his saddle-bow.
“And what’s the news?” continued Mrs.Brande. “Has Mrs. Langrishe’s niece come up?” she asked peremptorily.
“Yes, arrived two days ago—the early bird, you see,” he added, with a malicious twinkle of his little eyes.
“I don’t see; and every one knows that the worm was afool. What is she like?”
“Like a fairy, and dances to match,” replied Mr. Joy, with enthusiasm.
“Come, come; what do you know about fairies? Is she pretty?”
“Yes, and full of life, and go, and chic.”
“Cheek! I’m not surprised atthat, seeing she is Mrs. Langrishe’s own niece.”
“Chic is a French word, don’t you know? and means—well, I can’t exactly explain. Anyway, Miss Paske will be a great acquisition.”
“How?”
“Oh, you will soon be able to judge for yourself. She acts first class, and plays the banjo like an angel.”
“What nonsense you talk, Toby Joy!Whoever heard of an angel playing anything but a ’arp.”
“By the way, Miss Gordon,” said Toby, turning suddenly to her, “I hope you act.”
“No; I have never acted in my life.”
“Oh, that is nothing! All women are born actresses. Surely, then, you sing—you have a singing face?”
“I am sorry to say that, in that case, my face belies me.”
“Well, at any rate,” with an air of desperation, “you could dance in a burlesque?”
“Get away!” screamed Mrs. Brande. “Dance in a burlesque! I am glad her mother does not hear you. Never mind him, Honor; he is crazy about acting and dancing, and thinks of nothing else.”
“All work and noplays, make Jack a dull boy,” he retorted.
“Who else is up?” demanded Mrs. Brande, severely.
“Oh, the usual set, I believe. Lloyds, Clovers, Valpys, Dashwoods, a signalling class, a standing camp, a baronet; there isalso a millionaire just about half way. You’ll find a fellow called Waring at Nath Tal Dâk Bungalow—he was in the service once, and has now come in for tons of money, and is a gentleman at large—very keen about racing and sport. I expect he will live at our mess.”
“Then he is not married?” said Mrs. Brande, in a tone of unaffected satisfaction.
“Not he! Perish the thought! He has a companion, a young chap he takes about with him, a sort of hanger-on and poor relation.”
“What is he like? Of course I mean the millionaire?”
“Oh,of course,” with an affable nod; “cheery, good-looking sort of chap, that would be an A1 hero of a novel.”
Mrs. Brande glanced swiftly at Honor, and heaved a gentle sigh of contentment as she exclaimed—
“Well, I suppose we ought to be moving on.”
“Yes, for you will find the bungalowcrammed with Tommies and their wives. Give the millionaire my love. Au revoir, Mrs. Brande.Au revoir, Miss Gordon. You’ll think over the burlesque, and help us in some way, won’t you?” and with a valedictory wave of his hand he dashed off.
“He is a harmless lunatic, my dear,” explained the aunt to her niece, as they were carried forward side by side. “Thinks of nothing but play-acting, and always in hot water with his colonel; but no one is ever really angry with Toby, he is such a mere boy.”
“He must be three and twenty, and——”
“Look at the baggage just in front,” interrupted Mrs. Brande, excitedly. “These must be Captain Waring’s coolies,” and to Honor’s amazement she imperiously called a halt, and interrogated them sharply.
“Yes, for a sahib—two sahibs at Nath Tal,” grunted the hill men.
“What a quantity,” she cried, shamelessly passing each load in solemn review. “See what a lovely dressing-bag and a tiffin-basket.I believe”—reckoning—“no less than five portmanteaus, all solid leather, Captain C. Waring; and look at the gun-cases, and that big box between two men is saddlery—I know the shape.”
“Oh, Aunt Sara, do you not think we ought to get on?” urged her companion. “We are delaying his men.”
“My dear child, learn to know that there isnothinga coolie likes better than being delayed. There is no hurry, and I am really interested in this young man. I want to see where he has been, where he has come from.” In answer to an imperative sentence in a tongue unknown to Honor, a grinning coolie turned his back, on which was strapped a portmanteau, for Mrs. Brande’s deliberate inspection.
It proved to be covered with labels, and she read aloud with much unction and for Honor’s benefit—
“Victoria—that’s New South Wales—Paris, Brindisi, Bombay, Poonah, Arkomon, Calcutta, Galle, Lucknow. Bless us andsave us, he has been staying at Government House, Calcutta, and been half over the world! See what it is to have money!” and she made a sign to her jampannis to continue her journey. Presently they passed two more coolies, lightly loaded with a rather meagre kit; these she did not think it necessary to question.
“Those are the cousin’s things,” she explained contemptuously, “M. J., the hanger-on. Awful shabby, only a bag, and a couple of boxes. You could tell the owner was a poor man.”
Honor made no reply. She began to have an idea that she had seen this poor young man before, or were two cousins travelling together for travelling’s sake, a common feature in India. It would not surprise her much were she to find her companion of that three-mile walk awaiting his slender baggage at Nath Tal Bungalow.
As Mrs. Brande was borne upwards, her spirits seemed to rise simultaneously with her body. She was about to make theacquaintance of a millionaire, and could cultivate his friendship comfortably, undisturbed by the machinations of her crafty rival. She would invite him to be her guest for the two days they would be journeying together, and by this means steal a nice long march (in every sense of the word) on Mrs. Langrishe!