CHAPTER II.
Theweather was perfect, the sea like a millpond, as we coasted down to Naples. The Raymonds kept very much to themselves. They would sit side by side for hours in their two chairs, with the same rug across their knees, whilst she read or did fancy-work, and he dozed and smoked. After dinner they paced the deck arm-in-arm, and only mixed with their fellow-passengers at meals. They seemed quite a devoted couple, and when I remarked this to Becky Sharpe, that lively lady exclaimed, “Devoted! Where are your dear old eyes? She is the acknowledged belle on board, though I can’t see myself what all the men are raving about. She reminds me exactly of one of those coloured pictures on a chocolate box—very pink cheeks, very blue eyes, very yellow hair. Heis as jealous as a Turk. No man dare approach her. He never leaves her by herself for one second; they sit half the day under a big umbrella, and at table are flanked and faced by old married people. He won’t allow her to join in any games after dinner, poor girl, and packs her off to her cabin at eight o’clock. Do you mean to say you have not noticed this? Why, it is the talk of the ship!”
I had not noticed it, but I now began to see that there was something in Mrs. Sharpe’s remarks, even allowing for her exaggeration. I never saw a man speak to Mrs. Raymond, I never saw her husband quit her side, and I observed that, although he was in the saloon of an evening, playing whist and other games, she was not there; and once she said to me at table—
“Doallthe ladies go to their cabins at eight o’clock, so as to leave the saloon for the gentlemen?”
“No, certainly not,” I answered. “I neverthink of leaving till ten. I like my game of whist, and we generally have some music.”
That same evening she came up to me and said, “My husband says I may stay up too, if you will allow me to sit beside you. Please do, Mrs. Paulet; it is so dreadfully dull in my cabin. I cannot go to sleep at eight o’clock, like a little child.”
“Of course you may sit beside me,” I answered.
I glanced over, and saw Mr. Raymond’s keen, piercing eyes on me and her. We were all an elderly party; no one among us was likely to rouse his jealousy. She, poor girl, seemed delighted to have so much liberty, and chattered away, as I had never heard her, to Mrs. Sharpe, and Charlie, and the Barkers. Every evening she established herself beside me, work in hand, and thus it came to pass that I became Mrs. Raymond’s chaperone!
It was evident that Mr. Raymond was rich; he had the air of a man who had never had to think of money. It was whispered that he and theMexicans and Americans played very high, and that when he lost he laughed and paid up. Mrs. Raymond’s dresses were Parisian, more costly than tasteful. She came out in a set of Russian sables one cold evening, that made the other women respect her as they had never respected her previously, and her diamond bangles, brooches, and earrings caused even the American ladies to exclaim. All her belongings were in keeping, for one day she called me into her cabin to show me a picture, and I noticed the luxuries with which she was surrounded. The silver-mounted looking-glass and brushes, gold-topped scent-bottles, the cabin and its valuable contents, including her jewel-case, were all left in charge of Mr. Raymond’s Mahomedan servant, a stern-faced, elderly man, with a square-cut beard, who stood outside the door with folded arms, as motionless and rigid as a statue. I had had plenty of Mahomedan servants of my own, and I must say that I did not take a fancy to Ahmed Khan. He never salaamed to any one but hisown master, and there seemed to me a sort of scarcely repressed insolence in his stolid glance. He was devoted to Mr. Raymond, more like a dog than a human being; he slept on the mat outside his cabin by night, and obeyed his merest glance by day.
“To see Naples and die” is a very fine expression. I have seen Naples harbour with dirty brownish waves, seen Vesuvius covered with snow, the streets covered with mud and slush, and have very nearly died of cold and sea-sickness after an awful passage from Messina, in the very teeth of a gale; but now,en routeout, Naples looked gay and bright—but not a bit more beautiful in my perhaps prejudiced eyes than Bombay—and, as the steamer was to wait twenty hours, we all took boat and went ashore. Charles and I had been to Pompeii, had seen the cathedral, so we merely drove about shopping, and along the Ciaja; and almost everywhere we went we encountered the Raymonds, with Ahmed Khan in attendance. She looked radiant. We saw themin photographers’ shops, in milliners’, in jewellers’, and she whispered to me “that he had given her loads of pretty things, and that she was sending presents home, and had had her photograph taken.” I had never seen her in such spirits, for she was generally rather quiet, not to say depressed. At the Museum we met them again, and, as we were poking about among the wonderful remains from Pompeii, two young men came in, talking in the loud voices of the British tourists abroad.
One was a tall nice-looking man, with dark grey eyes; the other was smaller and plainer, but had a certain air of distinction about him, and any one could see at a glance that they were both officers in the British Army. They went round together, audibly discussing and admiring all they saw, and then they evidently caught sight of us—or, more properly, of Mrs. Raymond, who was examining a vase with Charles. I was a good deal surprised to hear one say to the other in Hindustani—
“Did you ever see such a lovely girl? I wish I was going to stay in Naples.”
“Maybe it is just as well you are not,” rejoined the other, with a laugh; “her father looks a stern old gentleman.”
Charles to be called an old gentleman, and to be taken for Mrs. Raymond’s father! The very idea gave me quite a shock. I glanced hastily at Mr. Raymond: had he heard too? Apparently not; if he had, he had an admirable command over his expression, for he was examining a quaint mosaic with a smile on his face. When I turned round the young men had departed.
It was getting dusk and chilly, and we set our faces towards the harbour, and after being nearly upset by rival boatmen, found ourselves once more safely in the lamp-lit saloon, which had quite a home look, with its three long tables covered with flowers, fruit, and Italian pastry, and duly punctuated by bottles of red country wine. Six new passengers had arrived,and, to my great consternation, they included the two young men whom I had seen in the Museum. Mrs. Sharpe told me that they were officers in the Prancing Lancers, on their way to join their regiment at Mhow. The tall one was Captain Fuller, and the short one was the Honourable Guy Warneford. They made a valiant effort to secure seats at our table, on the strength of a slight acquaintance with Mrs. Sharpe; but even this did not avail them, for there was no room, and they were forced to sit elsewhere. All the same, they attached themselves closely to our set, and soon had scraped acquaintance with Mr. Barker, the Borrodailes, and the Raymonds—especially Mrs. Raymond. They were, however, not prepared for her husband’s persistent presence. Was she leaning over the bulwarks, he was sure to be at her side; sitting, reading, walking, it was ever the same, and he generally monopolized the entire conversation. The only time that Mrs. Raymond was free from his ever-haunting presence was when she sat beside me, afterdinner, and they made the very most of this! We landed at Messina, and of course they annexed themselves to our party. They saw quite plainly that their company was distasteful to Mr. Raymond, and redoubled every effort—the combined efforts, of two audacious young men—to enjoy his wife’s society, partly because they admired her, and partly because it made him secretly and politely furious; it was a capital game! and they resolved to play it all the way to Bombay. Mrs. Raymond was no flirt, but she was young, pretty, and liked admiration; her exquisite blue eyes were childlike in their innocence—not like Mrs. Swift’s dark orbs, whose one glance was a whole three-volume novel! Mrs. Swift was decidedly fast, and her husband allowed her to do as she pleased.Hewas never on duty. This lady was also recently married, had a plain face, good figure, pretty feet—which she displayed liberally, and in six different pairs of shoes a day; she dressed admirably, was excessively amusing, and self-possessed. She was generally surrounded by a crowdof admiring young men, as she smoked cigarettes, bringing the smoke out of her ears or down her nostrils at pleasure. She talked slang, and behaved herself more like a schoolboy than a lady. Often have I caught Mr. Raymond’s black eyes fixed upon her, with anything but a pleasant expression; and, indeed, I could not wonder that he did not approve of this remarkably frisky matron. Ladies, as a rule, did not admire Mrs. Raymond. She was stupid, and had no style, and was not a person of good birth; now Mrs. Swift, with all her fastness, was well born (and much was forgiven her on this account). Mrs. Raymond was inclined to boast in a mild way of her diamonds, and of her husband’s wealth, of the lovely horses she would drive, and the tribes of servants she was to have in India.
“My dear good girl!” exclaimed Mrs. Sharpe, impatiently, “we are all on the same footing out there. We havealllovely horses, and tribes of servants; it’s our only compensation! If I had been you, I’d have made your rich husbandstay at home. Whereabouts are you going to live?”
“It is not quite settled yet,” she answered rather grandly. “My husband has a good deal of property in the Punjaub, I believe. I am not sure where that is.”
“But what will be your station?”
“I really have never heard him mention it. I don’t think we have a station.”
“How strange! Well, you will know soon enough; and if it’s a dull little out-of-the-way hole, you must make him take you down to Calcutta in the cold weather, and up to Simla in the hot season, and to Lucknow for the races. Don’t let him hide you and make a Purdah Nashin of you,” she added with a laugh.
“Whatisa Purdah Nashin?” inquired Mrs. Raymond, giggling and displaying her little white teeth.
“You may well ask! It’s a type you don’t come across in England. A woman who is kept secluded from the world in her husband’s house,who lives and dies there, and never uncovers her face when out-of-doors, and never sees or speaks to any man but her husband, or her father, or her sons.”
“Poor creatures! Are there many of them in India?” she asked with an air of deep compassion.
“Yes, thousands; they lead an uncommonly dull life, I fancy, these domestic prisoners. Even when she drives out, the grand lady has all the carriage blinds pulled down, just as the common woman sits behind the drawn curtains of an humble ekka. When they travel by rail, as they do on a pilgrimage, there is such a fuss; they are carried into the station in a dooly, and when they get into their compartment there is quite a high screen round them. It is so funny, and most of them are hideous old hags, as ugly as sin; but I suppose they like the commotion.”
“Don’t theyeverpeep? I’m sure I should,” she said with a merry, girlish laugh.
“If you were young and pretty you would not get the chance. There is generally some lynx-eyedold grandmother, who is worse than ten jailors. As she was kept down in her youth, and shut away from all the delights of the world, she now avenges herself on others. She rules the Zenana with a rod of iron. You have everything to learn about India, I suppose?”
“Yes, I know nothing about housekeeping and servants or anything; I should be greatly obliged to you if you would give me a few hints.”
There was nothing Mrs. Sharpe liked better; it made her so important. “Get a piece of paper and a pencil, my dear, and I’ll give you no end of information; there is nothing like beginning the right way. Of course,” as the girl sat down, pencil in hand, “much depends on your presidency. I suppose it will be Bengal?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” she answered with hesitation.
Mr. Raymond had drawn near in a stealthy way he had, and was leaning against a boat, listening. They could not see him, but he stood facing me, and not an expression of his escaped me.
“Well, you must first secure a good house, with large and lofty rooms, and a pucka roof; not a thatched house—be sure of that. Then you will want a whole retinue of good servants. Your husband will please himself, but I prefer Hindoos; Mahomedans are such fanatics and thieves, and have such an undisguised contempt for our sex. You will require a good khansamah, and cook under him, a bearer, two khitmagars, an ayah—an old woman for choice. Your number of syces depends on your horses.”
“Mr. Raymond has promised me two lovely Arabs for my carriage. I have never ridden, and he says he does not wish me to learn.”
“No? Well, as he is a rich man, you will have to allow your servants to fleece you to a certain extent. You won’t get grain, and meat, and poultry, as cheap as others; but be sure and settle your accounts with the cook weekly—never let them run on. Be very particular aboutthis!”
“Yes, I’ll remember.”
“Then about society. You have to call first onall the old residents—married people, I mean; but the bachelors, of course, come and call onyou.”
Here Mr. Raymond’s face was a study.
“The visiting hours are between twelve and two, the hottest time of the day—and awful in the plains—but every one goes out in the evening, riding or driving, and the young men are playing cricket or polo, so it’s the only time you find people in.”
“And who returns the young men’s visits?”
“Your husband—or you ask them to dinner; I dare say they like that better, especially if the hostess is a pretty woman, and has a good cook. I hope my little hints will come in useful. I have no doubt you will have a very gay time.”
“Do you think so?” beaming as she spoke.
“Yes, it’s a pity you do not ride; but of course you dance, and there will be lots of balls and partners for you, and tiffins, and dinners, and tennis; and you will find that your partners willoften drop in and look you up in the afternoons. It civilizes young men to have afternoon tea, and I suppose your husband won’t mind?”
From the glimpse I obtained of Mr. Raymond’s countenance, it struck me that there would not be a warm welcome for his wife’s partners, much less any invigorating refreshments.