CHAPTER III.
Wewere nearing Port Said, and there was a talk of getting up a fancy ball in the Canal, the night the steamer was “tied up;” an energetic lady—there is always one among the passengers—managed it, and cleverly evolved costumes out of almost nothing. There were Indians, Chinese, Japanese, Britannia’s draped with flags; lazy people who were merelypoudré, and clowns, playing cards, demons, and witches. The passengers of a P. and O. (anchored close by) came on board, and there—with the silent desert stretching away at either side—was enacted a scene of revelry, and all went merry as a marriage bell. Our ship gave the supper, the men the champagne. Mrs. Raymond was not allowed to dressin costume, or to dance; though it had been suggested that she should go as “Beauty,” and her husband as the “Beast,” or as the “Princess Baldrabadoura,” and her husband as the “Magician.” I fancy she had had a struggle to be present atall, for she looked rather pale, and her eyes were decidedly red, as she came and sat near me. I was only a spectator, a withered old wallflower.
“Can you not dance?” I asked, as she steadily refused partner after partner.
“Oh yes, I can, and I am so fond of it, too; but Mr. Raymond does not think married ladies ought to dance.”
“I go further,” he said—coming nearer as he spoke—“I don’t think any ladies ought to dance; they lower themselves by doing so. They should leave all this display to nautch-girls; it is only fit for such! Look at that lady,” pointing to Mrs. Swift, in a very short dress, “and look at that one,” indicating another in an exceedingly low body, “and you callthemcivilized and refined? I callthem no better than savages! They are on a par with a negro woman, who dances round a fetish.”
“You would shut them up, if you had anything to say to them?” I remarked sarcastically.
“I would—in their graves,” was the startling reply.
“I agree with you, that there is dancing and dancing, and I cannot admire these frantic polkas, or the kitchen lancers.”
“Ah, if you European ladies were not so prejudiced, you would allow that our Zenana system was a sound one.”
“No, never; I should never go to that extreme,” I maintained indignantly.
“But listen to me. Do our women romp about with other men—half clothed, too!—and shame their husbands who stand looking on? You saw those ladies racing round the deck yesterday for a gold bangle; what sort of an exhibition did you call it?”
I called it an exhibition of stockings, but I held my tongue. Therewassomething in what he said.Some ladies, I knew, might be eliminated from society with much advantage to womankind in general.
“Youthink our women have no liberty,” he pursued, gesticulating with his thin brown hands.
“I am sure they have not,” I answered emphatically.
“Another mistake! They have far more than in English families. Although the world does not see them, our mothers and wives pull all the strings from behind the purdah. No family matter is settled without them; be it weddings, purchase of land or jewels, all those affairs are generally arranged by them; they are far more deferred to in money matters than European women, who are often beaten, and almost always neglected or ignored where business is in question. An old lady like you, were she of my people, would have great authority. And they have ample variety; they drive about from one Zenana to another, and hear all the news, and drink coffee with their friends. Nor are they debarred from male society; they seetheir husbands and brothers and uncles. Once a woman is married, why should she desire to see another man than her husband? There is where the great mistake is made in your country; were your ladies kept in strict seclusion, there would be no disgrace, none of those shocking scandals that become more common every day.”
“Haveyounever any?” I demanded in my tartest tone.
“Rarely, rarely, very rarely.”
“And when one is discovered, what happens?”
“Do not ask metoomuch,” was his mysterious reply. “I maintain here to you, an enlightened English lady, who knows India, and knows the world, that our Zenana life, our women’s lives, is infinitely superior to yours. Where women smoke and drink, and shoot and hunt, and have their liberty, and make a very bad use of it—ours have sufficient liberty, but no licence.”
“And yet many cannot read or write, and spend their days playing childish games, dressing dolls,quarrelling, or eating sweets; their minds are a blank.”
“Better so than be full of wickedness.”
“And yet you read French novels yourself; you have had a good education; you have seen the world. A woman is to be shut up between four walls, spending her days like some wound-up mechanical toy. Is she not as much a human being as you are?”
“No; she is an inferior,” was his astounding statement.
“Thankyou,” I replied, with an arctic bow.
“But she is well watched and cared for,” he calmly proceeded, “and is very happy in her home, and has enormous influence.”
“And yet she may not sit in her husband’s presence; and when he enters a room, must stand with her face to the wall!”
“That is seldom done now; these customs are going out of fashion.”
“Yes, like the bow-string and the sack!” I retorted, with a spice of temper.
At this moment some one came and offered to take me down to supper, and I was not sorry to leave Mr. Raymond; there was an odd glitter in his eyes, and a repressed tone in his speech, that I did not altogether relish. He had not been pleased with my thrust about the sack and bow-string, and for my part I had not fancied being so plainly informed that I was “an old woman.” We were never such good friends after that night, and I think he had an insane idea thatI—I, strait-laced Louisa Paulet—encouraged those two light-hearted officers in their fluttering round his wife!
Captain Fuller took me into his confidence one evening, and said—
“What can have persuaded that lovely girl to marry that horrible man? Did he pass himself off as an Italian, or a Greek, or what? Handsome, I suppose he is, but what an expression! And it strikes me, that the nearer he approaches his native shores, the more native he becomes—even in his dress. He has dropped his smart tweed suit forwhite duck, his deerstalker for a fez, and the fine new gloss of his European manners has worn down. He would like to poisonme, and I should be delighted to kick him—to kick him for half an hour.”
“Well, I sincerely hope you will keep the peace; we have only seven days more. We sight Perim to-night,” I added consolingly.
“Seven days more! Yes, I wonder what sort of a life that wretched girl will lead. She is very simple, and as ignorant in some ways as a child.”
“She will have carriages and horses, and servants, and lovely diamonds.”
“And do you think they will make her happy?”
“I am sure I don’t know; it satisfies some women.”
“Yes, but not when they are married to a native of India, with whom they can have but little in common, and who has an uncivilized temper. Where is she to live?” he inquired, with undissembled interest.
“I do not know,” I returned, with a shake of my head. “She is rather vague about it herself.”
“But surely you can find out? You have been very kind to her, and I am certain that to feel she has one friend of her own sex in the country, would make her happier. Give her your address; you might drop her a line, and ask how she is getting on. It would be an act of charity; for, to tell you the truth, I have my doubts of that fellow. I would not trust him as far as I could throw him.”
I seemed (I suppose because I am stout and motherly-looking) to be the general repository of people’s confidences, for one afternoon, before dinner, Mrs. Raymond came and took Charles’s chair—her husband was deep in a game of chess. He glanced up for a second, but he evidently considered that she was safe with me, and resumed his play. I looked at her closely; she had been crying. This was the second time I had seen her with red eyes. She moved her chair, so that she sat with her back to the chess-players, and said—
“I have not had a talk with you for a long time, Mrs. Paulet.”
“No, my dear; but we can have a good chat now. You are not looking yourself; have you a headache?”
“I—I feel the heat; oh, I do hope we are not going to a very hot place.”
“I hope not,” I answered cheerfully.
“And in six more days I shall know! Mrs. Paulet, I wonder if I shall ever see you again. Oh, IhopeI shall!”
“Perhaps some day you will come and pay me a little visit at Tamashabad?”
“How I should love to stay with you, but——”
“But what?”
“My husband would not let me go, I am sure. Oh, dear Mrs. Paulet, I feel sosafewhen I am near you!” and her eyes filled with tears.
“What does the girl mean?” I asked impatiently.
“I mean”—lowering her voice, two tears nowrolling slowly down her cheeks—“that my marriage has been a terrible mistake. I am afraid of Mr. Raymond, I am—indeed. Oh, why did I ever leave my home?”
To hear a bride of a few weeks talk in this way gave me a most unpleasant sensation.
“Nonsense, my dear girl! you are only a little bilious; it is the sea air. If you had not liked the man, I’m sure you would not have married him.”
“It was all my mother’s doing,” she rejoined in a choked voice. “You see—I need not tell you—that I am not a lady by birth like you, and it was a grand match for the likes of me.”
“Tell me where you met him, and how it all came about? You may be sure I shall keep whatever you relate to myself.”
“I met him up in the lake country, where my mother keeps a little inn—The Trout and Fly. She is a widow and has three daughters; I am the youngest—and best looking.”
“Yes, go on.”
“I was always a bit spoiled, I suppose on account of my looks, and I was sent to quite a genteel boarding-school in Carlisle, where I learnt French and the piano, and when I came home I was never asked to help in the housework like Lizzie and Susan, or to wash dishes or cook; mother could not bear me to soil a finger, and so I used to sew and do a little millinery and that. She never allowed me, even in the busy time, to set foot in the bar or coffee-room, or to come across visitors at all; but one day I met Mr. Raymond on the stairs.” She paused, sighed, and then added in a most melancholy tone, “And that began it all!”
“I suppose so,” I acquiesced sympathetically.
“Yes, he stayed and stayed, and he hung about, till he met me and spoke to me. He was very rich and handsome, and had such beautiful clothes and rings—so different from any of the village people. He took a fancy to me, he told mother, and asked if he might walk out with me; and of an evening we used to walk together,and he told me lovely stories, and was very attentive, and gave me a gold watch and chain; and people talked in a horrid way, but mother shut them up fine! He was a real grand gentleman, and he was going to marry me; he and she had settled it, she said. If I had had to choose, and he had had the same as young Joe the boatman, my own cousin, I’d have married young Joe. However, we were married very quietly, and he carried me off to London, and bought me splendid dresses, and took me to the theatres and parks, and we had a fine hired carriage of our own. Then we went to Paris, and I liked that; and oh! he bought me such lovely diamonds. I never wished for a thing that I did not get it. Just like in a fairy tale. But though he was very kind to me, I never could bring him to speak to me of his relations, his religion, or his home, and I know no more about them now than I did then,” she said with a little sob, “and here we are within four days of Bombay. I have a presentiment that something is going to happen,and I cannot sleep for thinking of it, my heart does palpitate so!” As she spoke, her whole frame quivered.
“Indigestion, my dear! Pray, what could happen to you?” I asked.
“I don’t know; but sometimes Mr. Raymond is very angry with me, and he frightens me. He cannot endure me to speak to any one, scarcely even toyou; and he told me that if I ever spoke to Captain Fuller again he would lock me up in my cabin. He is quite capable of it. Ah! what would I not give to be at home? Shall I ever see our dear hills and lakes again?”
“Of course you will,” I hastily rejoined; “and meanwhile you will see a very interesting new country, where I hope you will be very happy.”
“God grant it, Mrs. Paulet!” she returned gravely. “But sometimes I feel that I shall never be happy again,” and she gave a little dry sob.
“You should have reflected well before you married. You are very young; you could hardly know your own mind.”
“Yes; but you see mother is a strong-minded woman, and manages us all. I never chose a dress for myself, let alone a sweetheart. And he was very liberal to mother; he bought her a lease of the house, and poor mother was just dazzled. Oh, if I was only back again, sitting over the fire in the little parlour, with Susan and Lizzie, I’d never ask to see a diamond, or a horse, or a silk dress, as long as I lived! Yes, it’s getting much warmer.”
I looked round to see the meaning of this irrelevant remark, and discovered Mr. Raymond close to us, regarding our confidences with a pair of most suspicious eyes.
The next morning he blandly informed us at breakfast that “Mrs. Raymond was not well, and was going to remain in her cabin—a touch of fever, a mere nothing.”
I volunteered to go and see her, to take her quinine, eau de Cologne, oranges. My offer was stiffly declined. “His wife had everything she required; all she needed was repose.” We didnot see her that day, nor the following one, nor could we gain access to her cabin by fair means—or even by foul—for when I surreptitiously tried the door (having left Mr. Raymond on deck), I found Ahmed Khan on duty as sentry, and he assured me with a scowl that “Mem Sahib sota hye” (Mem Sahib asleep).
Mrs. Sharpe came to me next morning, and said excitedly, “Louisa, youalwayssay I am finding mares’ nests, but I am certain there is something wrong about those Raymonds; we have not seen her for three days—not since Monday night.”
“No, but that proves nothing. She has not been looking well latterly—she has fever.”
“The doctor has not been called in.Hewaits on her himself; and when he is card-playing, and on deck, the door is locked.”
“Pray, how doyouknow?” I demanded judicially.
“I watched and tried it, and then I knocked, and she said, ‘Come in, please;’ but I saw Ahmed, and he sent me away. ‘Sahib’s hookum;missus sick, could seenoMem Sahib.’ Then I can tell you something more. Her cabin is next Miss Lacy’s, and Miss Lacy says she hears dreadful sobbing and crying. Whatisto be done? Shall we speak to the captain?” concluded Mrs. Sharpe.
“No; a man’s cabin is his castle, and his wife is his private property. We cannot break in, and see her against his will.”
“The thing is to communicate with her.”
“Yes, but how?” I inquired.
“I have thought it all out. This evening, when he is playing cards, I shall slip away, and go into Miss Lacy’s cabin and knock on the partition, at the back of Mrs. Raymond’s berth. Don’tyougo; he may suspect you, but he won’t missme.”
“Well?” I said breathlessly, as I entered her cabin that night, “what success?”
“He was much too clever for me,” she replied. “I had barely knocked and said, ‘Mrs. Raymond.’ And she said, ‘Oh, who is it?’—‘Mrs. Sharpe, from Mrs. Paulet. Are you better?’—‘I amquite well. I never was ill. Hush!’ And I heard her cabin door opened, andhecame in; he did not talk at first, but I knew he was there. After a time he said, ‘I have brought your sleeping draught.’ I had my ear to the berth. ‘Oh, please, please no,’ she cried; ‘I don’t want it, and the other made me so heavy for two days. Oh, anything but the sleeping draught!’ and she began to sob. ‘Take it!’ you should have heard his voice; it actually frightened me through the boards. And then I crept stealthily away, feeling quite queer and shaky, not to say guilty.”
“We get in to-morrow at nine o’clock,” I said. “Of course we shall see her then. We will watch and waylay them. Poor girl! what does he mean by shutting her up and drugging her?”
The steamer arrived in dock at six—three hours before her time, and before we were up. What a bustle there was! After our seven-o’clock Chotah hazree, packing our small parcels and wraps, receiving our letters and friends—wearea selfish world—it was breakfast-time ere I thought of thepoor prisoner. I went to the cabin door and knocked; no answer. I turned the handle; the door opened, the cabin was empty!
“How is this?” I said to the stewardess Theresa, a fat, oily-tongued Italian.
“Oh, the signora was very, very sick, and the good signor was so attentive, he waited on her himself (he had given Theresa a handsome tip—that I could see). He was so anxious about her, that as soon as we were in dock, he carried her on deck in his arms, well wrapped up. There was a doolie waiting with eight bearers. He placed her in it with his own hands, and she was taken away.”
On further inquiry, a doolie and eight bearers, accompanied by a respectable elderly servant, had been seen going towards the city, and there all trace of the Raymonds was lost.
Raymond was, of course, a fictitious name. The unhappy girl, and the mysterious stranger, had totally disappeared; none of their fellow-passengersever heard of them again. They were both engulfed in that wide and extremely vague address known as “Up country.” To this day, Mrs. Sharpe and I, when we meet, shake our heads together over a certain little mutual intrigue, and jointly wonder what has become of Mrs. Raymond.