CHAPTER XVA RENEWED FRIENDSHIP
Captain Falklandpresented a striking appearance in his A.D.C. uniform, mounted on a fine black horse. He looked thoroughly at home in the saddle.
“Behold that faithless man!” cried Mrs. Wolfe excitedly; “howamI to get hold of him?”
“I suppose the general has been inspecting something, as he is on duty,” said Mrs. Potter, “and there is the dog that is always at his heels.”
“Lord Runnymede’s only son is dead,” observed a lady, who was now one of the company on “the cake.” “He was always a poor consumptive creature, and Captain Falkland is the next heir. What a chance for some girl!”
“Oh, he’s not a marrying man,” declared Mrs. Wolfe with brisk decision; “he bars girls, and naturally he would never think of one of our ‘spins’ out here.”
In answer to an agitated signal with a newspaper, Captain Falkland approached. He was now on foot.
“Oh, I’ve been trying to catch your eye for ages,” screamed Mrs. Wolfe. “You never answered my chit, and you know you half promised to take me on the lake to-morrow. Do; come and have tiffin first.”
He shook his head, and, before he had time to speak, she hastily added:
“Oh then, I’ll meet you at the boathouse! I don’t intend to let you off. An hour’s rowing on the Hussain Saugur will besogood for you!”
Just at this moment Captain Falkland’s eye caught mine, and he exclaimed:
“Miss Lingard! Well, I am astonished. When did you come out?”
I was prevented from answering by Kipper, who had also recognised me, and sprang into my lap in a state of hysterical delight, ruining my nice clean white linen with the red dust off his paws.
“So you and Miss Lingard have already met?” said Mrs. Soames, and I noticed that Mrs. Wolfe honoured me with a piercing stare.
“Oh yes, we knew one another at home,” he replied, and then this bold man stepped up and took a chair on “the cake”—the one just vacated by Mrs. Lakin.
“When did you arrive?” he repeated.
“Only the other day,” rejoined Mrs. Soames, evidently afraid that I would give myself away, and I sat by in helpless acquiescence. “Miss Lingard is staying with me.”
“Kip is awfully pleased to see you,” he said, addressing me particularly.
“Yes, isn’t it nice of him?—and it is more than six months since we parted. He was once my property,” I added, looking over at my chaperon.
After this evidently unexpected announcementthere was a significant pause, and some of the ladies exchanged glances.
“How did you leave them at Torrington?” inquired my neighbour.
“Oh, very well, thank you. They all came to see me off from London.”
“What steamer did you come out in?” demanded Mrs. Potter, but I pretended not to hear, and said:
“Dora is married, as I dare say you know, and Bev has decided to go into the Diplomatic Service.”
“Sorry for the Service,” muttered Captain Falkland.
“I wonder if you came out in theModena?” persisted Mrs. Potter, who I could see was boiling over with questions, but Mrs. Soames, an efficient general, now rose and said:
“I promised to look for a book for Jimmy, and I had nearly forgotten it—something to do with military law—arrived in the last batch. Come along, Miss Lingard, and I will show you the library.”
Captain Falkland rose to attend upon us, but was instantly arrested by Mrs. Wolfe, who figuratively flung herself upon him. She was one of those women who triumphantly capture the attention of men—be they never so wary—and thrust the rest of her sex ruthlessly aside. We left her holding her prey by the sheer force of her volubility, and talking with surpassing gesticulation and animation; but presently with surprising adroitness he managed to escape and joined us.
“So you and Miss Lingard were acquainted in England?” said my chaperon.
“Oh, rather—we are connections. My people and Miss Lingard’s have lived within a few miles of one another for centuries. The Falklands and the Lingards are old and trusted friends.”
“How amusing! I had no idea of this,” said Mrs. Soames; nor had the poor deceived lady any idea that the speaker and I had only spoken to one another on two occasions!
“You must come and dine with us,” she continued hospitably, “just a quiet little family dinner.”
As they were arranging the day and hour, I stood aloof talking to Kip, and was astonished to behold yet another familiar face and form. Could I believe my eyes? There was Mr. Balthasar descending from an imposing grey motor.
He crossed the compound quickly and accosted Ronnie, who had just ridden in from polo; they talked eagerly together as the latter dismounted and his pony was led away. I noticed that Ronnie took Mr. Balthasar familiarly by the arm and spoke to him earnestly for some minutes, whilst from time to time Balthasar nodded his close-shaven bullet head in emphatic agreement. Undoubtedly Balthasar had heard of my arrival, had possibly seen me and informed Ronnie of our former meeting, and Ronnie had pledged him to silence. Now, including Captain Vesey, there were four people who held the secret of my past.
As Mrs. Soames and I moved towards our victoria,escorted by Captain Falkland, Ronnie took a few steps towards us, but his companion stood stock-still, and looked at me as blankly as if he had never seen me before. Then one of his thick black lashes quivered slightly. Yes, it was an unmistakable wink!
As our carriage wheeled about to thread its way among a crowd of other vehicles I beheld Mrs. Wolfe “descend upon the fold.” She seized the helpless A.D.C. and carried him off in triumph to themorghi-khana.
The next afternoon Mrs. Soames and I drove up to the polo ground to witness a match, in which Ronnie greatly distinguished himself. He was captain of the regimental team, rode splendidly, and was remarkably well mounted. I could see that he was an important factor in the local polo world. I noticed Mrs. Lakin in a dreadful old phaeton, drawn by a bony chestnut horse. As she caught sight of us she waved her hand with effusion.
“Isn’t she a funny old thing?” said Mrs. Soames. “She lives down at Begumpett, where her husband commands a regiment, and she dresses like a caretaker, but is such a good, generous woman, so kind to the natives, Eurasians, and poor whites. She spends on others—saves on herself. To my certain knowledge she has had that toque ever since I came to the station. If anyone is ill, it’s Mrs. Lakin to the front; if anyone is in trouble, they turn to Mrs. Lakin. Her husband is a smart, well-set-up man, and looks years younger than his dowdy wife. Their bungalow is on the style of forty years ago,quite a curiosity. They have queer old furniture and Argand lamps, but give capital dinners in the good solid style; everything in the most lavish profusion. Masses of servants, dozens of courses, wonderful curries, and such tender mutton! She is the secretary of our Mutton Club. It is really an historical object lesson to dine with the Lakins, and to learn how things were done—say at the time of the battle of Plassey.”
“I wish she would invite me to dinner,” I replied. “She is a nice, confidential, motherly old thing, adores India, and cannot endure the idea of leaving the country.”
“No, I dare say not,” said Mrs. Soames; “all her children were born and most of her relations are buried out here. Her sons and daughters are scattered about this Presidency. I don’t suppose she has anyone belonging to her at home, and would be rather at a loose end in Bayswater or West Kensington.”
“She might write her memoirs,” I suggested, and here Ronnie and several of his friends surrounded our carriage and claimed our attention.
The night that Captain Falkland dined with the Soameses the only other guests were Major and Mrs. Mills, the chaplain and his wife, and ourselves—a somewhat sober party. I must confess that I took unusual pains with my appearance. My ayah and luggage had arrived. Captain Falkland had never seen me in full war paint, that is to say in evening dress, for at what he called the “beanfeast” I had worn a demi-toilette. I think Mrs. Soames was a littleimpressed by the fact of our former acquaintance; at any rate, she sent us in to dinner together, and we talked away gaily.
We discoursed about Torrington and Beke, the “Beetle,” and also the “Plough and Harrow.”
“That was a ghostly old place,” he remarked. “I spent two nights there and heard the most extraordinary noises, as if someone was ploughing up and down the passages.”
“Oh, how amusing!” exclaimed Mrs. Soames.
“Surely you don’t believe in ghosts?” I said.
“No, I’m not sure that I do,” he replied, “although we own one ourselves—appearance guaranteed only to members of the family—but I have a sort of sneaking belief in those horrible things called ‘Elementals.’”
“An Elemental—what is that?” I asked.
“Oh, a sort of half ghost, half reptile, a hideous animal—or even a too frightful vegetable! Germans call them ‘House devils.’ They are the most modern and fashionable article, and have entirely cut out the old sheeted spectre and clanking chains business.”
“And what do theydo?”
“All manner of hateful tricks; for instance, supposing you’ve laid down a book or an umbrella for a moment, you turn about, and it’s gone! After a protracted search and considerable loss of time and temper, behold it once more before your eyes! Say you have discovered something important in a newspaper and particularly wish to show it to a friend, you may hunt the paper through and through untilyou’re nearly crazy, and there’s not a sign of it. That’s the work of an Elemental. When you have written, with painful labour, a most particular letter and tip over the ink—Elemental again! Or when you are late and in a terrific hurry, and your only collar stud jumps out of your hand, rolls away and falls into a hole in the floor, you tear your hair, and delight the Elemental! Some go so far as to say that bruises and pinches for which we cannot account come from the same quarter.”
“Horrible!” I said. “I’d a thousand times sooner have to deal with a banshee.”
“Well, yes,” he replied, “they only sit outside the window and howl and wail; but they will never wail foryou, as you are not Irish.”
“No,” I said, “I rather wish I were.”
“Do you, my dear girl?” said Mrs. Soames. “How very amusing!”
“They are an attractive nation, a most happy-go-lucky lot,” resumed my partner. “I sometimes go over there to hunt with a friend. The very last time I crossed I told the porter to label my luggage for Bristol. Luckily, I caught him just in time as he was pasting on ‘London.’ I asked him what the dickens he meant? ‘Shure, yer honour,’ he replied quite calmly, ‘I’m bound to putsomethingon—and these is the only ones I have!’ He seemed to think he was doing his duty, and looked so genial and so pleased with me that I believe I gave him sixpence.”
“It’s wonderful howyouget Captain Falklandto talk,” said Mrs. Mills when we forgathered in the drawing-room; “with me he is generally as dumb as a fish.”
“He is an example of a man who makes a little conversation go a long way,” said Mrs. Soames. “Rather a drawback for an aide-de-camp. However, what he does say is generally to the point, and he has the most beautiful manners. He must have learnt them from his mother Lady Louisa—she belongs to the old school, and is as proud as Lucifer! I don’t envy the unfortunate girl who will be her daughter-in-law. I do not think that in her eyes anyone short of a princess will be a fitting match for her dear Brian; however, he is a nice fellow, and one of those rare, unselfish individuals who enjoy listening to other people.”
“Then I should imagine he has a thoroughly happy time with Mrs. Wolfe,” said the major’s wife. “She must nearly talk his head off, and with her great black eyes, enormous mouth and flashing teeth, she sometimes looks as if she were going toeathim!”
It was painfully evident that this lady was no favourite with Mrs. Mills.
“Oh, she just talks as easily as she breathes,” declared Mrs. Soames good-naturedly. “It’s her second nature. She is a brilliantly clever woman, andsoamusing.”
“Well, I much prefer her cousin Miss Payne,” declared Mrs. Mills; “she is really unique; so original, independent, and interested in the whole world. Mrs. Wolfe is merely interested in herself andher admirer for the time being; she cannot exist without some attaché. Whether he likes it or not she has a way of annexing a man that there is no resisting. Her tactics are excessively bold and open. If she takes a fancy to any particular individual his struggles are useless; he is condemned to dance, to ride, to boat, and to play tennis with her, until she is tired of his society.”
“But it’s all so absolutely harmless,” protested Mrs. Soames. “Mabel Wolfe is an excellent wife; her three children are at home, and I suppose she thinks, being young and gay, that she is entitled to some distraction!”
“I don’t know what you call ‘entitled,’” rejoined Mrs. Mills, “but I know for a fact that she was at the bottom of the breaking off of the Wallington-Allan engagement, and there was ‘distraction’ if you like! I grant you that she has a wonderfully animated manner. Her descriptions are vivid, her ‘take offs’ are inimitable. She entertains the men, and they like her, but, for my part, for a woman with three little children——” She paused abruptly as the lords of creation were now sauntering in, and the subject of Mrs. Wolfe and her shortcomings was postponed to another occasion.
After some desultory conversation, Mrs. Soames uttered the words “A little music,” and I was conducted to the piano—a rich-toned Schiedmayer—and Colonel Soames begged me to sing something he had heard me trying over that morning.
After one song I was urged to many. My effortswere unexpectedly appreciated. Captain Falkland was evidently fond of music; he stood by the piano turning over the leaves, and begging for his special favourites, and I was retained at the instrument until it was ten o’clock, the hour for the departure of our guests—all early birds.
“Are you riding in the mornings, Mrs. Soames?” inquired Captain Falkland, as he was about to take leave.
“Yes, to be sure I am,” she replied briskly.
“Well then, if I may, I will call in on Thursday and take my chance. We might have a gallop round Moul Ali racecourse.”
On Thursday, which was the garrison holiday, a large riding party assembled outside our quarters. Colonel and Mrs. Soames, Major and Mrs. Mills, Ronnie and his greatest friend in the regiment, Mr. Arkwright, Captain Gloag, the adjutant, Captain Falkland, Colonel Grey (a colonel of the artillery in Trimulgherry—not very far from our lines), his two daughters and myself.
The Misses Grey, Emily and Mabel, were not remarkably pretty, but were very popular in the station. Their mother being dead, their father enacted the part of an effective chaperon. He was a wonderfully dapper, active little widower, and looked young to be the father of these well-grown young women, was a capital tennis player and an indefatigable dancer. It was certainly rather hard upon the girls that he laid such heavy toll upon them for partnership on tennis court or in ballroom. At every dance it was an unwritten law that each had to reserve threedances for her parent. As they danced beautifully their young men friends considered this claim an outrageous exercise of parental authority. Certainly the little colonel danced amazingly well. If by any chance one of the girls “cut” her father’s waltz, domestic matters would be more or less disagreeable for some time. In all other respects he was a pattern to chaperons.
Moul Ali, an otherwise forsaken racecourse, was often the scene of morning and evening gallops, and the forlorn, dilapidated stand made a suitable resort forchotah hazri, afternoon teas, or even moonlight suppers. The course and stand were the sole attraction to people from the cantonments, as this portion of the Deccan is surprisingly ugly, and has to depend for its beauty on sunset and moonlight effects. The land is barren, covered with low-growing shrub and enormous red sandstone boulders of every size and shape. So numerous are these that there is a native legend to the effect that when the Creator had completed His work, He discharged all the rubbish in this part of the world. For miles and miles it is a sea of stones, with not even a palm or a mango tope to break the monotony.
On this particular Thursday morning the sun was scarcely over the horizon when we moved offen masse. I rode with Colonel Soames. Our way lay along a rough cart track, full of ruts and rocks, bordered with bleached jungle grass and thorny, leafless bushes. At last we arrived at our destination and there let ourselves and our horses “out.” How I enjoyedthat delightful gallop with the fresh morning air beating in my face! Captain Falkland’s great waler and my stud-bred raced along together side by side, and we were soon far ahead of the rest of the party.
“Your animal has a turn of speed; that was a good stretcher,” he remarked, as we subsided to a walk. “You love riding, I can see.”
“Yes,” I replied; “and here it is all so nice and free. One is, as it were, off the road,” and I waved my hand at the enormous stretch of open country.
“That’s so,”he assented. “There are no farmers to head you off new wheat, but it’s pretty bad going. You have not yet come across any of our big nullahs.” Then turning round, so as almost to look me straight in the face, “I say, do tell me, now we are by ourselves, how you happened to come out to India.”
“I wanted to come,” I replied. “I have always longed to see the East.”
“That you particularly wanted anything would be no reason for your getting it, if I know Mrs. Lingard. Rather the other way I should say; so tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
“Well then,the real reason——” Here I came to a full stop.
“Yes, go on please—therealreason.”
“Was Beverley,” I brought out with an effort. “He was so horribly fond of me.”
“Good Lord!” exclaimed my companion. “What a way to put it!”
“And although I couldn’t endure him, and snubbed him fiercely on every occasion, still my aunt was afraid——” And again I hesitated.
“That you might be tempted? Yes, I see.”
“There were no grounds for her fears I do assure you, but when Aunt Mina saw a chance of shipping me to India, naturally she seized upon it—and of course I was only too glad to come.”
“Did she ship you to your brother?” inquired my companion.
“Well—no—not exactly,” I stammered.
“Oh, then, thereissomething behind!”
“There is,” I admitted.
“Nothing much, I’ll bet my boots. You haven’t it in you to keep a deadly secret.”
“I’m not so sure,” I replied. “For all you know to the contrary, I may deserve the kettle. I heard you talking to Mrs. Potter about truth.”
“Yes, I hope I didn’t put my foot in it? Truth, between you and me and the doorstep, is not hermostprominent virtue. Now, you have it written all over your face; you couldn’t tell a lie if you tried.”
“Please don’t hurl these compliments at me,” I protested, “especially as I don’t deserve them. I may not tell a lie—but I mightactone!”
“What do you mean?” he demanded, reining up suddenly; and Kip, who had caught us up at last, sat down to pant.
“I do not see why I should explain. You seem to expect me to tell you everything about myself andmy affairs as a matter of course. On your side, you divulge nothing.”
“I am not as good at talking as you are and I have but little to say for myself. Possibly, like the parrot, I think the more. Perhaps, some day, I may tell you something that I would never say to another soul. Although you and I have met so seldom, we know one another extraordinarily well, and if there is any truth in the fashionable doctrine of Theosophy, we were united by a close tie in some former existence. Do you know I had that feeling when we passed one another on Slacklands Marsh? Well now, won’t you tell me the great secret?”
“Yes,” I agreed, “but not at present. Do you see,” I continued, pointing over at the stand rendezvous, “everyone is there already!—they are waving what looks like a tablecloth.”
“By Jove, so they are!” he exclaimed, as we put our horses into a canter. “All right, then,” and he looked at me expressively, “your thrilling story must be continued in our next!”