CHAPTER XXCLOUDS
WhenI whispered my news to Mrs. Soames she instantly ejaculated her usual formula:
“Oh,howamusing!”
The colonel’s lady was no less delighted than surprised, and as full of excitement and importance as if the match was one of her own contrivance. She was anxious that we should make the engagement known. I saw her cast a longing glance at her writing-table, and knew that she was eager to send nice little notes to Lady Ryder, Mrs. Wolfe and Mrs. Mills, but against such a proclamation I set my face, and implored her to keep the matter, at least for the present, a dead secret.
Of course I took Ronnie into my confidence; at first he looked scornfully incredulous, then stupefied.
“I never dreamt it would come to that!” he said at last. “I can’t think how you two made it up. I never saw you much together.”
His feelings were contradictory, I could see. He was not pleased—and yet again he was pleased.
“You will take thepasof Aunt Mina,” he remarked. “Won’t she be furious? And, of course, in a way it’s a grand match. The Falkland family is as old as the hills, and as proud as Lucifer,but I could never cotton to Falkland, he has such strained ideas of honour. You must never discuss a woman in public, and all that sort of old-fashioned twaddle. I think you are right to keep the engagement dark as he is not here. Envious people might say that the whole thing only existed in your imagination, and, as I have already observed, you and he were never very chummy—although I now remember that he used to ride up to church here on Sunday evenings, and always sit where he could see you.”
The news of Captain Falkland’s sudden departure for England made quite a stir at the club. Mrs. Soames assured me that everyone was talking about it and saying all manner of nice things about him. In spite of his rather slow manner it appeared that he had a very active brain. The general and Mrs. Graham were completely lost without him, as he had been invaluable to both, as a smart officer and a tactful A.D.C., never mixing uncongenial people or sending guests into dinner in wrong seniority and thereby causing much heart-burning and enmity.
As I did not appear at the club for two or three days, having a bad cold, I was honoured by a visit of inspection from Mrs. Potter. She came ostensibly to see Mrs. Soames, and dropped in on me on the way in her fine motor-car. She found me sitting in the veranda with Kipper on my lap, and I think the spectacle startled her not a little.
As I ushered her into the drawing-room she said,
“As I was up in this part of the world I thoughtI would just look in on you. I heard at the club that you were rather seedy.”
“Only a cold and a little touch of fever; I shall be well by to-morrow.”
“Is thatallthat ails you?” and she looked at me with a malicious glance and added: “Someone told me that it was a serious heart attack!”
I laughed. I think my laugh annoyed her, for she said:
“And so your friend Captain Falkland has gone! Thatwasa sudden flight.”
“I believe his father is very ill.”
“I wonder,” she murmured meditatively; “or was it just an excuse to clear out of a compromising fix and a dangerous neighbourhood?”
As I saw that she was bent on being excessively spiteful and disagreeable I remained silent.
“I see you have got his dog,” she continued. “Love me love my dog, eh?”
“The dog was originally mine,” I said.
“Ah, then I suppose you both love him! So you and Captain Falkland know one another at home?”
“Yes.”
“It is doubtful if he will ever come out again. We shall all miss him tremendously. Do tell me, is it true that your brother is not going home with the regiment, but is tryingveryhard to get into the Indian Army?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, “but I do not think it’s the least likely, or he would certainly have told me.”
“Ah, my dear,” she said, “brothers don’t tell their sisters everything, and possibly you have your girlish secrets from him. I think you have some small trifle up your sleeve—a little mystery about your coming to India.”
“I came to India in the usual way,” I answered, “by sea.”
“And were a most delightful importation! Well, now I must be going. As you have a sore throat you really should not talk. Au revoir! I suppose you will turn up at the club in a day or two?” and with a smiling farewell she swept out.
It seemed to me about this period that my happy time was coming to an end. It was not only that Brian Falkland had gone home and that I missed him dreadfully—missed the pleasure of looking forward to meeting him—I even missed the little disappointments when he failed to appear. The sun did not shine so brightly, nor were the skies now so blue; also I was haunted by the unpleasant presentiment that trouble was approaching. Ronnie was changed. He was strangely altered in the last few months. His spirits were fitful—sometimes he was too noisy, talkative, and excited; sometimes so silent and in such a mood of black depression that I feared he was sickening for an illness. To my anxious inquiries the invariable reply was, “Only a touch of fever.” His face was paler, there were lines about his mouth, his eyes had lost their glance of irresistible gaiety; he often looked haggard and worried—especially, I noticed, after he received cables andtelegrams. At night I could hear him pacing the compound long, long after he had ostensibly retired to bed. Ronnie, who had always been so polite and considerate to our servants, was now impatient, irritable and overbearing. I had known him to throw a boot at thechokraand an oath at Michael.
Although I was secretly miserable I followed Lizzie’s sage advice, and kept my trouble to myself, nor did I, such was my moral cowardice, venture to appeal to or question my brother, but maintained our intercourse on the ordinary everyday level. Since my early youth at Torrington I had a shrinking horror of scenes and rows, and once when I had thrown out a timid feeler it had been brusquely repulsed.
Money, with which Ronnie was once so lavish, had now undoubtedly become scarce. When I asked for my monthly allowance for wages and bazaar I was put off with an impatient excuse. The mere hint at the payment of bills appeared to exasperate him, and so, for shame’s sake, I settled the smaller accounts and servants’ wages out of my own pocket. Hitherto I had shared expenses, contributing ten pounds a month towards housekeeping, and this I handed over intact to my brother. Shop bills, bazaar bills, that I thought he had paid, now poured in in shoals, and the club account was appalling. A talk with Roger Arkwright made me even more uneasy. He joined me one day as I rode back from Secunderabad, and after a little commonplace conversation began rather nervously:
“I say, Miss Lingard, you will forgive me if I am taking a most awful liberty—you know that Ronnie and I are old friends and schoolfellows, and all that sort of thing. Just lately I’m afraid he has got his money affairs into a hopeless hash. He won’t listen to a word I say, and though I don’t like doing it I feel obliged to ask you to try to get him to take a pull. He gambles.”
“Only at bridge—for small sums.”
“You can lose very heavily at bridge,” said Roger gravely, “and also at poker. Ronnie plays high at the club, and also down at Balthasar’s.”
“Balthasar’s!” I echoed in dismay.
“Yes, fellows drive down there, dine, and play chemin de fer. On these occasions I’m afraid Ronnie tells you that he’s on guard, or dining at some mess. He is not our old Ronnie; no, he has come under some bad influence this last year. Don’t you notice how he has changed and aged, and that he’s not half as cheery as he used to be? He has become so terribly restless, and seems always in a condition of feverish excitement. I believe he and that chap Fox, of the Tea-Green Lancers, who has loads of coin, cable home and back horses, and lately I fancy they have both been rather badly hit.”
“This is terrible!” I gasped at last. “I knew that Ronnie was short of money lately, and he certainly does not look himself; but I never dreamt of what you have just told me.”
“It’s partly the fault of Fox,” he replied, “who eggs him on and has a bottomless purse. I thinkthere is a sort of rivalry between them. Ronnie has always been so popular, with his polo and rackets, quite a celebrity in his way, and inclined to be a bit extravagant. Then he went home last year and, apparently, got hold of a good sum of money. Well, I’m afraid from all I hear that he has come to the end of that now. The colonel has had hints of his debts and I am told is rather uneasy in his mind, and if something, or someone, does not interfere, Ronnie will find himself in hot water. I believe he has borrowed money from that fellow Balthasar.”
I felt so shaken that I could not speak—only stare at my companion with what, no doubt, was a face of horror.
“Always remember you can rely on me, Miss Lingard,” continued Roger. “Whatever happens I will stick by him—and here he is now,” as Ronnie cantered up behind us with his pony in a lather.
“You look as if you’d come far and fast,” said Roger, with a quick change of manner.
“Yes, I’ve just been down to Chudderghat,” he answered, “something to do with the next gymkhana on the Futeh Maidan.”
I felt positively certain that this was an untruth. Ronnie had been down to interview Balthasar. As I rode towards home I made no attempt to join in the conversation. My mind was in a tumult. What was I to say to Ronnie? How could I economise and help him? I would send away thedirzeeand one of the table servants. I had nearly a thousand rupees with Bunsi Lal the banker. I must speak toRonnie about his affairs without delay, and was screwing up my courage to the sticking-point—as Ronnie was always so irritable whenever I mentioned money. But as it happened I need not have troubled myself, for as soon as Roger Arkwright had cantered off towards his own quarters Ronnie turned and attacked me.
“I know what’s coming!” and his face was livid; “you and that fellow Arkwright have been laying your heads together aboutme.”
“Do you mind if we did?” I rejoined courageously—but my voice was shaking.
“Yes I do. Now understand, I won’t have either of you meddling in my affairs. What’s he been saying?”
“That you gamble.”
“That I gamble,” mimicking my voice. “And if I do?”
“He says you have lost a great deal of money; that you go to Balthasar’s to play chemin de fer, and are heavily in debt. Oh, Ronnie dear, don’t be so hard and reserved, so unlike yourself withme,” I pleaded. “I have money at the bank—do let me help you! I shall sell Tommy Atkins and economise in every possible way. Do take me into your confidence—for, after all, there are only the two of us.”
“Well, since you put it like that, as the professor used to say, I don’t mind telling you that Idoowe some thousands of rupees. Balthasar has got me out of a pretty big hole, and I shall be able to settle up everything before long and be clear.”
“Oh Ronnie—how splendid!” I exclaimed, now inexpressibly relieved.
“Yes—if Collarette wins the Calcutta Cup; and if not I shall pull through somehow. I cannot think how my affairs are known; the morghi khana is a hotbed of gossip—those women have tongues of fire. The colonel was quite shirty with me yesterday about my mess bill, and Mrs. Soames, who always takes her cue from him, was as cool as ice when I met her at the boat club. But don’t be uneasy, old girl,” he concluded, as he assisted me to dismount. “I shall go slow for a bit and it will all be as right as rain.”
ButIwas not so sure. I was sensible of gathering clouds, and that very day I drew my balance from the bank, cleared off the hateful bazaar bills and wrote home for more money. Letters from Brian were such a comfort now; they gave me great happiness and support. He had written from Bombay, Aden and Port Said. These epistles were not long but they were most satisfactory, and written in the clear deliberate hand that accorded with himself.
For a week or two, so far as bills and money troubles were concerned, there was a great calm. I had not sold Tommy Atkins, and I rode, played tennis, and went about as usual. I noticed, however, that Mrs. Soames was by no means so intimate or confidential as formerly. On the contrary, she had adopted an attitude of freezing reticence. I think she was painfully exercised in her mind. On the one hand she saw her protégée the future Countessof Runnymede (a match that when made public would glorify her as a chaperon), and on the other was Ronnie, her former chief favourite, in deep disgrace with her autocratic husband. Although nothing serious had been said or done there was a coolness; we were no longer invited to supper on Sundays, and at an afternoon club dance Mrs. Soames refused to honour Ronnie with her usual waltz!
During these socially grey days I received the following letter from Mrs. Hayes-Billington. It was written in a feeble and almost illegible hand:
“My dear Eva,—I have to thank you for your kind, cheerful little notes, but I am past cheering. I seem to have arrived at the end of all things. My health has been on the wane ever since I came to this awful place, and I am glad to say that I shall not be here long. As it is, hours seem endless. I have no companions, nothing to do but lie and think; I close my eyes and contemplate the days that are no more, and the people to whomIam no more. I live some happy scenes over and over again. Then I open my eyes to find myself alone and dying, and the worst of it is that I suppose I have deserved my fate. I offended Mrs. Grundy and she has killed me! Poor old Bertie, he will be sorry. I cannot tell you how kind and unselfish he is, but he is obliged to stick to his work, which claims his time like an insatiable monster, and it is reported that the mine is not paying. How I wish I could see your bright, happy face once more! but I know that such a wish isfolly. Good-bye, my dear girl, try and think of me as kindly as you can. Bertie will write to you when all is over.“D. B.”
“My dear Eva,—I have to thank you for your kind, cheerful little notes, but I am past cheering. I seem to have arrived at the end of all things. My health has been on the wane ever since I came to this awful place, and I am glad to say that I shall not be here long. As it is, hours seem endless. I have no companions, nothing to do but lie and think; I close my eyes and contemplate the days that are no more, and the people to whomIam no more. I live some happy scenes over and over again. Then I open my eyes to find myself alone and dying, and the worst of it is that I suppose I have deserved my fate. I offended Mrs. Grundy and she has killed me! Poor old Bertie, he will be sorry. I cannot tell you how kind and unselfish he is, but he is obliged to stick to his work, which claims his time like an insatiable monster, and it is reported that the mine is not paying. How I wish I could see your bright, happy face once more! but I know that such a wish isfolly. Good-bye, my dear girl, try and think of me as kindly as you can. Bertie will write to you when all is over.
“D. B.”
I must confess that this letter made me shed tears.
After the scene with Balthasar, when he told me of Mrs. Hayes-Billington’s loneliness and illness, I had written to her pretty often, and sent her newspapers, books and sweets—remembering how she loved chocolate. I wondered what Brian would say if he were to come in and find me weeping over a letter from Mrs. Hayes-Billington. Perhaps Ronnie was right, and Brian was alittlebit straitlaced.
Another letter that I had recently received was of much more cheerful character. It came from Lizzie Puckle. She wrote to announce that she was about to marry a Canadian engineer, and was sailing for Montreal in a month’s time. I was delighted for Lizzie’s sake that she, too, was about to flap her wings and see the world—but sorry for myself. Somehow Canada seemed so far away, and I felt as if she were about to pass out of my life entirely.
At last the sword that I half dreaded fell! The beginning of the trouble was an order from headquarters announcing that the regiment was not to be relieved for twelve months. This was a blow to some, a relief to others, and a surprise to all. There was a hasty cancelling of sales and a general readjustment of plans. I wrote the news home to Brian and said: “As your father is so much better,I shall look forward to seeing you here very soon.” I felt that in a crisis, or the storm that was approaching, he would be my mainstay. I had always realised that Brian was a strong man.
Immediately after the order respecting reliefs was known, I was conscious of a still greater change in Ronnie. Collarette had been ignominiously defeated; this was a serious blow, and our financial affairs were far from flourishing. I disposed of two of my best scarcely known or worn frocks to the Greys, dismissed themali, and left off sugar and claret; but to cope with our difficulties was beyond my powers. Instinctively I grasped this truth, and my spirits, once so high and exuberant, now fell to zero.
One Sunday night I noticed that Ronnie, who had been out all day and returned an hour late for dinner, was looking unusually haggard and dejected. He scarcely uttered a word or ate a morsel, but swallowed two very stiff pegs, and when the meal was over rose and said abruptly:
“I have a lot of work to do, Sis; do not mind me but go to bed, and on no account sit up.”
Obediently I retired into my room and put on a dressing-gown, and as soon as the ayah had brushed my hair dismissed her. There was not the slightest use in attempting to go to bed, for I knew that I could not sleep. I was oppressed with a premonition of some imminent disaster; so acute was this sensation, that it seemed as if the horror were actually present in the bungalow. I tried to read, but the attempt was a failure; then I got up andcrept into the dining-room. Ronnie’s office and dressing-room opened out of it and I peeped in. He was sitting with his back to me at a table, his head resting on his hands; I wondered if he were asleep. At any rate, he was totally unaware of my presence, and I crept away as stealthily as a thief in the night.
In an hour’s time I returned, resolved to insist upon his going to bed. On this occasion I made no attempt at concealment, but boldly pushed back the purdah till the rings jingled.
Ronnie heard my footfall on the matting, and started. As he turned about, I felt my heart contract, for I saw that his face had a ghastly, glazed appearance, and that he held a revolver in his hand.