CHAPTER XXIVTHE FLIGHT
Asa special favour I was granted permission to have an interview with Ronnie before he was removed, not to “Windsor Castle,” as Secunderabad jail was nicknamed—for the regiment had protested—but to Bangalore, a second-class establishment.
“I wish to goodness they were going tohangme!” was the first thing Ronnie said, and there was agony in his voice. “I swear I do—only for you and Uncle. Well, Eva, you must go home and try to make the best of things.”
“What! and leave you out here?” I cried. “No, indeed, I shall live at Bangalore until your time is up.”
“Now that is the very craziest nonsense; you must return to Torrington and marry Falkland.”
For the moment I failed to think of an appropriate answer. Why remind poor Ronnie that as the sister of a convict I could never be Brian’s wife, or presume to enter his proud and exclusive family?
“I do not wish to marry,” I muttered at last, and then hastily turned the subject by asking him if he wanted money.
“No, no,” he replied, “a paternal government provides everything, kit and all, and I start to-morrow under escort. It was decent of them to let you see me, and in my own clothes. Good-bye, dear old girl; you’ve been a real brick to me. Now I implore you to take your own line and not bother any more about your scamp of a brother. Do you remember when we sat on the bridge at Beke and had presentiments, and I swore that I was going to make the name of Lingard famous? I’ve jolly well donethat!”
“Don’t say such things,” I burst out hysterically.
“I’ll behave like a lamb,” he continued, “and possibly receive some indulgence, but I’m bound to be the only officer and gentleman among a very queer crowd, and I hope the prison diet will put an end to me long before my term is out.”
At this moment a man whom I had never seen before entered and signalled that the time was up, and we embraced in silence. The next morning I was informed that my brother had been taken away by night, the authorities sparing him as much publicity as possible. Having ascertained that Ronnie had really departed, I proceeded to lay my own plans before Mrs. Lakin, who protested in long and eloquent speeches packed with objections; but my mind was made up, my decision immovable.
“Dearest, kindest Mrs. Lakin,” I said, “Ronnie and I are all in all to one another; where he goesIgo.”
“What—to jail?”
“No; but perhaps I can find some quiet family in Bangalore who will be absolute strangers to meand my affairs. I can see Ronnie from time to time, and send him books and papers—he will like to feel that I am near him.”
“But this is sheer madness, my dear child! You don’t know a soul in Bangalore.”
“So much the better,” I replied with significant emphasis.
“If even one of my girls was there—but Susan is at Trichinopoly and Alice at Saugor.”
“Do, do help me,” I urged, and slid down from my chair and laid my hands on her knees. “I would like to start to-morrow.”
My petition was backed up by Zora, who at this propitious moment had called to see me, and warmly approved of my project. That a woman should make the most absolute sacrifice for a man was naturally her own (the Mohammedan) point of view.
“Eva is right,” she declared. “Imagine the comfort and joy her visits will be to that poor fellow, cut off from all his friends and associates. I should think Eva could find a home in some quiet family—not perhaps in her own class—and she can steal away quietly from here, and no one need know what has become of her—only we two. I can take her the whole way to Wadi in my car; the ayah will go ahead with luggage and wait there—and so Miss Lingard will disappear.”
“Two years in some back-road bungalow in Bangalore will be a sheer sacrifice of Eva’s youth; of course she should go home to her people,” protested Mrs. Lakin, who had sacrificed so much herself.
“But I have no near relations except Ronnie,” I announced; “we are orphans. Do you know Bangalore?”
“To be sure I do, my dear. It was there I was married—in Trinity Church.”
“Then probably you can tell me of some people who would receive me?”
“Oh, as for that, I could. I know a nice old widow, who was my mother’s English maid and married a half-caste clerk. She is comfortably off, lives in the infantry lines, and has no family.”
“It seems to be just the place for me!” I exclaimed.
“No, no,” she protested. “I won’t have any hand in your crazy scheme.”
“Oh, dear Mrs. Lakin, don’t say that. If you do, I shall be living in Bangalore, possibly with people you might not approve of—unless you or Zora can suggest something better.”
“I do know people down there,” she admitted, “but they are in your own class.”
“That would never answer,” I rejoined. “They would want references and to hear all about me and my business—even supposing they’d receive me as a paying guest.”
I could see that Mrs. Lakin was relenting by degrees when she said:
“Even if youdidgo to Mrs. de Castro, it would take a couple of weeks to make arrangements.”
“But you can telegraph—‘reply paid,’” I suggested.
“I can’t imagine why you’re in such a hurry to get away; I know the rules, and you won’t see your brother for at least three months.”
“Oh, I’ll see him before that,” I replied with conviction, “even if I have to go on my knees to the governor.”
“And, my dear Eva, you have not the faintest idea of what you are undertaking. Mrs. de Castro will not charge you more than thirty rupees a month, but everything will be very coarse and rough. Native vegetables, bad bazaar bread, second-class fish, andgoat!”
“I don’t mind in the least,” I answered recklessly.
“Well, I suppose a wilful girl must have her way,” and after long persistent arguments and an inexhaustible amount of persuasion I prevailed on my kind friend to write to her Bangalore acquaintance on my behalf.
By return of post we received a reply from Mrs. de Castro, saying that she would “be glad of the young woman’s company—and money for her board.”
When the shock of the verdict had somewhat abated, I wrote several important letters; it was a new experience for me to be relying solely on myself. First I wrote to my bankers, and instructed them to pay to Colonel Soames the sum of four hundred pounds, the amount of the missing canteenmoney. I felt a great sense of relief as I closed and addressed this missive; at least the regiment would not experience any pecuniary loss—it was their good name which had suffered. My next letter was to my uncle. I sent him a long, detailed and truthful account of the whole tragedy; carefully pointing out every extenuating circumstance, and endeavouring to touch his heart. So far he had not answered Ronnie’s appeal, but I was determined that he should take notice of mine. Ronnie’s cry was for money—mine for sympathy and forgiveness. I also wrote to Mrs. Paget-Taylor, and implored her to use her influence to soften my uncle and aunt with respect to my brother; and last, but not least, I wrote to Brian. Without any attempt at softening facts, I related the history of Ronnie’s temptation and disgrace. I said in the course of the letter:
“Ronnie is already a convict in Bangalore jail. I know that this news will shock you; the whole affair fell upon me as a thunderbolt. It has all come from Ronnie’s passion for gambling, which I honestly believe is his only failing, but has brought him, as the world can see, to the most frightful grief. I am sure you will remember how popular he was with crowds of friends. Well, at the present moment he has not a single one in the world except myself, and of course I shall stick to him. He would to me under similar circumstances. Ronnie was always the best and kindest of brothers. This sudden and dreadful trouble will, of course, put anend to our engagement. My dearest Brian, how could you possibly marry the sister of a convict, who is serving his sentence, and whose case has rung through every club and every regiment—not to speak of the whole Press? I cannot express to you what this blight on my future costs me. I know that you will be sorry for me, and perhaps a little sorry for Ronnie. Please do not write, it would only make matters worse, for I can never come into your life, and must do my best to put all thoughts of you out of my mind. I leave here in a few days to await in some quiet place, and among total strangers, the date of Ronnie’s release.”
“Ronnie is already a convict in Bangalore jail. I know that this news will shock you; the whole affair fell upon me as a thunderbolt. It has all come from Ronnie’s passion for gambling, which I honestly believe is his only failing, but has brought him, as the world can see, to the most frightful grief. I am sure you will remember how popular he was with crowds of friends. Well, at the present moment he has not a single one in the world except myself, and of course I shall stick to him. He would to me under similar circumstances. Ronnie was always the best and kindest of brothers. This sudden and dreadful trouble will, of course, put anend to our engagement. My dearest Brian, how could you possibly marry the sister of a convict, who is serving his sentence, and whose case has rung through every club and every regiment—not to speak of the whole Press? I cannot express to you what this blight on my future costs me. I know that you will be sorry for me, and perhaps a little sorry for Ronnie. Please do not write, it would only make matters worse, for I can never come into your life, and must do my best to put all thoughts of you out of my mind. I leave here in a few days to await in some quiet place, and among total strangers, the date of Ronnie’s release.”
Now that my correspondence had been dispatched by the English mail, I began to make arrangements for departure, and here I had an active assistant in Zora. My scheme had her enthusiastic approval. By her instructions all my pretty, smart dresses, jewellery and dainty belongings were duly collected, packed, and sent away to be stored under her father’s roof till better days dawned. For the next two years I would have no occasion for smart frocks or ball gowns, and with only a modest outfit in two boxes I was ready for my journey. Under my present circumstances I did not require an ayah, and old Mary and I separated with mutual regrets. As for the Lakins, they could not have been kinder or more sympathetic if I had been their own daughter. The evening before I departed the colonel beckoned me mysteriously into his office, and told me in alow voice that if I wanted money I was to be sure to apply to him.
“I know,” he added, “that you have a bit the sale brought you, and I have paid it, as you wished, into the Bank of Madras; but later on, if you find yourself getting a little low, you’ve only to drop me a line, just the same as if you were one of our girls.”
I endeavoured to thank him, but he would not listen to me; on the contrary, he insisted on my listening tohim.
“I must tell you that I do not approve of this step you are taking—no more does Lucy. Of course old Jane de Castro will look after you, but you will find her a dull companion, and I do not see how you can possibly hold on with her for more than a few months. I can enter into your feelings in wishing to be near your brother, but I am sure you ought to think a little of yourself, and after you have seen him and cheered him up a bit, you really should go home.”
I listened to his advice with profound respect, but I was sensible that nothing would induce me to accept it. Mrs. Lakin, too, had provided me with a generous supply of admonition and warnings; and also endowed me with a basket of provisions that would have kept a hungry family for a week. She exhorted me to write to her continually, and actually threatened to come down to Bangalore in order to see with her own eyes how I was getting on.
In the midst of our leave-taking talk and Mrs.Lakin’s last instructions, Zora’s big motor glided into the compound. My boxes were placed upon the roof—a tiffin basket also—and Zora herself accompanied me down to Wadi, closely veiled. She gave me much sweet sympathy and many wise injunctions, saw me into a comfortable carriage in the Madras mail, and behold me launched into a new world!
Before my departure I had written to Mrs. Soames, Mrs. Mills, and other friends, bidding them farewell, thanking them for all their kindness. To poor Mrs. Lakin I deputed the heavy and thankless task of explaining my flight. In answer to numerous inquiries she assured her questioners that I had insisted on leaving, in spite of all that she could urge or do, but the truth was, I could not endure to remain in Secunderabad. I had been very mysterious about my destination and address; my desire was, if possible, to be absolutely forgotten. For all these stories may my good kind friend be absolved.
It was naturally assumed that I had taken flight to England, until Mrs. Potter announced in themorghi khanathat I had been seen on the road to Wadi in Balthasar’s great grey motor with luggage on the top,and not alone. Moreover, it was an incriminating coincidence that Balthasar himself had disappeared from Chudderghat on the very same day!