CHAPTER XIIIA FRESH START
Fromthe nearest railway station to Silliram, our journey south was both monotonous and dusty. The country we passed through was disappointingly flat and uninteresting; a reddish brown plain, broken here and there by serrated hills of red sandstone, which at times gave the illusive impression of castles, battlements and fortresses.
During our longtête-à-tête, Ronnie and I had found plenty to say to one another on many subjects, besides lengthy discussions on Aunt Mina’s delinquencies and Mrs. Hayes-Billington’s past. With respect to these topics Ronnie was forcibly eloquent.
“Of course Aunt Mina wanted to get rid of you at any price, although she wrote me a gushing letter, saying she had made the most delightful arrangements for your happiness; but as far as she was really concerned, you might have gone to the devil!—and youdidgo to the devil in one way when you set up house with Mrs. Hayes-Billington! The more I think of it, the more furious I feel. To have been chaperoned and brought out by such a woman is enough to blast the name of any girl; and if one of the Secunderabad cats were to get hold of thisstory you would be simply down and out! The sound thing to do is to pretend you have only just arrived from England, and drop those weeks in ‘The Dovecot’ out of your life.”
“That’s all very fine, Ronnie,” I protested, “but it’s not so easy to drop bits of one’s life like that. Numbers of people knew me at Silliram. Supposing some of them were to come down here?”
“Not much fear of that,” he answered emphatically. “The Silliram crowd seldom travel south—their beat is Bombay.”
“After all, Mrs. Hayes-Billington is not such a coal-black sheep,” I urged. “In many ways she is a good soul, generous and unselfish, and never says a nasty thing about anyone. I believe lots of women have been divorced and are allowed to creep back into society by degrees.”
“My good girl, don’t talk about what you don’t understand! Mrs. Hayes-Billington’s case broke the record. Of course her reputation as a beauty made her rather conspicuous, her track was strewn with victims. There is a legend that more than one silly fool committed suicide on account of her. The man she went off with was enormously rich—it was an absolutely mercenary affair. However, he didn’t marry her, and left her to prey about the world. Apparently she picked up with Hayes-Billington, who by all accounts is a thundering ass!”
“The man Mrs. Hayes-Billington ran away with could not marry her because he died,” I explained impressively.
“Oh, did he? Well, I don’t see that that makes much difference,” was Ronnie’s amazing reply. “Although you made such a bad start I expect you and I will have a real good time housekeeping together, won’t we, old girl?”
“I hope so,” I replied. “I have learnt a little about prices and things, and a few words of Hindustani.”
“Oh, you don’t want Hindustani at Secunderabad. Most of the natives speak and write English. My butler was with a married couple before he came to me; he will help you to run the show, and will tell you all about the Hali sicca rupee, which is worth ninety-six dubs—a dub is like a scrap off an old copper kettle. We shall fix up No. 30 quarter in grand style, and have our little dinners and bridge parties. Mrs. Soames will take you out, and I have a ripping pony that you can ride. You’d think to look at her—I mean Mrs. Soames, not the pony—that she was a stiff-necked old maid, as narrow-minded as they make ’em, but she really is awfully kind and soft, and does so enjoy being a colonel’s wife in India, and entertaining the regiment and fussing over soldiers’ wives. ‘James’ is bound to take to you. Between ourselves, it’s my opinion that James would like to flirt a bit in his hours of ease. You will like Major and Mrs. Mills, our only other married couple, beside the quartermaster, though Mrs. Mills is wrapped up in her nursery and housekeeping.”
Before we reached Wadi Junction, I had receivedan outline of what my future friends, amusements and duties were likely to be, as described in an offhand sketchy manner by my brother.
As we changed on to the Nizam’s State Railway, Ronnie met a racing acquaintance, and, with many apologies, they both retired into a smoking carriage—there to discuss important forthcoming events; meanwhile I made a sort of toilet, arranged my hair and hat, and dusted my frock, in order to assure a presentable appearance on arrival.
At Secunderabad station we were met by Mrs. Soames herself; a slight, smartly-dressed, elderly woman, with a long thin face and an immense unnatural looking fringe. She gave me a cordial welcome, and soon we were trotting up towards Trimulgherry behind a pair of fast bay cobs. After the usual journey talk, I said: “It is so very, very kind of you to take me in—a sort of waif and stray.”
“Why of course,” she replied, “I am only too glad to come to your rescue. Your brother is one of my favourites, heissuch a dear fellow. Although so popular he is so thoughtful and unspoiled, and when he brought me Captain Vesey’s letter I saw at once that there was nothing for it but that he must go and fetch you here. By and by we shall settle you into a nice quarter, close to ours, and I will be your chaperon. No, no, you really must not thank me so much. I am fond of girls, and I shall be delighted to have your company. Just one little word of caution,” extending as she spoke anexquisitely gloved hand, “do not mention Mrs. Hayes-Billington here. If it leaked out that you had been brought to India and associated with such a disreputable character, the result might be most distressing. Although the largest station in India, Secunderabad is extraordinarily proper and correct. I have been here for three years and we have not hadonescandal! There is the club,” she broke off, “our great rendezvous for tennis, dances, bridge—and, I think I may call it, the heart of the station.”
I leant forward, and gazed at an imposing two-storey building on my left, which stood in a spacious and well planted compound. Then, bowing to people on horseback, Mrs. Soames continued:
“You ride of course?”
“Yes, I love it,” I answered promptly, “Mrs. Hayes-Billington and I hired ponies by the week, and rode everywhere.”
“My dear girl,pleasedon’t mention that woman’s name,” she protested in a plaintive voice.
“Well, may I say something, just for once? I do not think she was really so dreadfully to blame—her children were taken away—she was so much alone—I cannot help feeling sorry for her.”
“What are you saying?Sorryfor her!”
“Yes, she told me her story the night before I left; it was not so bad—but rather sad——”
“She threw dust in your eyes of course!” interrupted my companion, bristling up and speaking with great asperity. “Those abandoned creaturesmake themselves out to be martyrs of circumstances; and indeed, my dear, I should not be discussing such a woman with a girl like you. Now here we are, and there is James awaiting us.”
As she spoke, we were whirled in between two gate piers and came to a standstill before a solidly built bungalow, with a round, bowed sort of veranda. With hospitable agility, Colonel Soames sprang down the steps to greet me and handed me out of the victoria. He was a wiry little man, with keen granite grey eyes, a small sandy moustache, and a remarkably square jaw. Judging by his figure and youthful appearance, he might have been a mere captain instead of the officer commanding a notable regiment.
I was conducted into a perfectly appointed quarter, a C.O.’s bungalow—light, airy, and furnished to suit the climate. My room was not large, but looked most attractive, with its white bed, pink rugs, and pretty flowered chintz.
“Now make yourself quite at home,” said Mrs. Soames, “we have a few people dining, but, if you feel too tired after your journey, as soon as we go into the drawing-room, you can just slip away.”
Fortunately my clever ayah Mary had squeezed quite a goodly amount of raiment into a small trunk, and I was able to appear in a smart black evening gown, for which my hopeful aunt had paid no less a sum than twenty guineas. It seemed to me that there was a crowd in the drawing-room asI entered, but we only mustered twelve, including Ronnie and myself. I heard Mrs. Soames inform her guests that I was “just out from home!” Her tone and glance implied that I had arrived no later than yesterday, and I was plied with all sorts of questions by the two men between whom I sat at the dinner table with respect to the latest books, plays and news. As I gave rather vague and unsatisfactory answers, I’m afraid they looked upon me as a stupid sort of girl, or perhaps ascribed my lame replies to my strangeness in this new environment, or the fatigue of a journey from Bombay. So apparently my six weeks at Silliram were to be as though they were not, and I was beginning my career in Secunderabad with a smothered scandal and a secret!
The dinner party, as a dinner, was a great success. The cooking, waiting, appointments, and flowers could not have been bettered at Torrington; these native servants were certainly more deft and light-footed than Baker and his subordinates.
I slept soundly in the delightful “Europe” bed, between lavender scented sheets. This airy solid bungalow (puckabuilt) was a delicious change from the damp and mouldy “Dovecot.” The hours of the house were early and of military punctuality, and seven o’clock found me sitting in the veranda, havingchota-hazriwith my hostess, who was, as usual, full of animation and conversation.
As she talked I watched thebheestiand amaliworking in the garden; the former with his greatmussickfilling waterpots and the latter sitting on his heels, wrapped in acumblie, digging very deliberately among tomato plants. My hostess explained to me that our lines were what is called “in the entrenchment,” although the officers’ quarters were outside the fosse and the barracks. These were built back to back, thus ensuring absolute privacy, and each had its own large compound. She pointed out the double-storey mess-house, which faced us across a maidan, and was dimly seen through clumps of flaming “gold mohur” and other trees. Not far to the left of the mess-house lay the jail, which was castellated, and known by the name of “Windsor Castle.” Then, taking me by the arm, she led me to a corner of the veranda and introduced me to yet another scene. Behind our quarters lay the Trimulgherry bazaar, overlooked by its celebrated “Gun Rock.” This was merely a large piece of granite, shaped precisely like a cannon, and apparently laid and ready to blow the place to pieces. Presumably it had been in this position for hundreds of years.
On his way from parade Ronnie dashed in to visit me. This was the first time I had seen him in his uniform. He looked very smart and soldierly and was riding a perfect darling of a pony, a bright bay with black points.
“I just dropped in to find out if you were alive after yesterday,” he said. “You look all right. I believe Mrs. Soames is taking you to call on the ladies of the regiment this morning. Only Mrs.Mills, the major’s wife, and the quartermaster’s old woman; afterwards, she is sure to bring you down to the club and show you who’s who. I am playing polo up at Bolarum, but keep your pecker up—I’ll see you again before dinner,” and he wheeled about his pony, and was gone.