"I got your letter," wrote Stella to Maud Verrall, "and am awfully glad
about your news, though at the time it made me feel simply green with
envy. How little I thought I should have some news to tell _you_ when I
answered it. Don't faint, but your little friend is also engaged, _and
going to India_! I could turn head over heels with joy. Perhaps we shall
meet next as married ladies! Wouldn't it be fun if we went out in the
same ship? My fiancé is a big, tall man, much older than me; but I don't
mind that a bit. There is something rather romantic, I think, in the
idea of a husband a good deal older than oneself. He hasn't got a beard,
and is not at all bald. I like him very much, and he spoils me
frightfully. Before we sail I am to have singing lessons and learn to
ride, and he says I can order what clothes I like. He is giving me a
real pearl necklace. His name is Colonel Crayfield, so my initials will
still be the same. Old Betty says that is unlucky, but I don't believe
her; nothing could be unlucky that gets me to India. It's all like a
heavenly dream, only a dream that will go on; no waking up to find
myself stuck at The Chestnuts with nothing to hope for but deadliness
evermore. I suppose I am an ungrateful pig. I know grandmamma and the
aunts are fond of me, and of course I am fond of _them_, but I can think
of nothing but my own good luck. They don't seem altogether pleased
about it; I can't imagine why, except that they never have wanted me to
enjoy myself. I really believe they think it's wicked to be pleased
about anything but the garden and sermons and the weather. However, I
don't care. I am going to India, and nothing else matters on this
earth."
So the "heavenly dream" continued, unmarred by the odd lack of sympathy
displayed by grandmamma and the aunts, and, if anything, enhanced by the
departure of Colonel Crayfield for London; his absence left Stella more
free to indulge her fancies, to lose herself in visions, to revel,
almost as though drugged, in blissful imaginings. Her betrothed sent
presents and frequent letters that, though short, were fervent, and
added to the glamour.
Thus time flew by, till the day of the marriage, which took place, very
quietly, in the little old church. The ceremony was performed by Canon
Grass in a manner, as Stella afterwards declared, that was more
befitting a funeral than a wedding. She attributed his lugubrious voice
and demeanour to the fact that the unfortunate gentleman was so
ill-mated himself. Mrs. Grass attended the service in her invalid chair,
and looked like a rag doll--poor thing, and poor Canon Grass! Grandmamma
did not even have a new bonnet, and might have been a graven image. Aunt
Augusta behaved as if they were all doing something wrong; and, of
course, Aunt Ellen wept.
Stella thought it really very horrid of them, when she herself was
feeling so jubilant, and dear old Santa-Sahib was so nice and so kind,
and looked almost "a picture" in his new clothes. He had grown a little
thinner, which was a great improvement. She wore the pearl necklace, his
wedding gift--it was lovely! Why did everybody but Santa-Sahib seem to
wish to damp her spirits, to put a spoke in the wheel of her pleasure?
Of course, there was no reception, no fuss; that she had not expected;
all she would have liked, and resented not having received, was just a
little sympathy with her state of joy--a little acknowledgment of her
good fortune.
They drove straight from the church to the station to catch the express
for London; and from then onwards "the dream" became rather more
harassing than heavenly! Stella found herself in a sumptuous hotel;
there was a lady's maid, a smart person engaged by Colonel Crayfield
until the date of their sailing, who embarrassed her. She was confused,
dismayed by revelations that, it appeared, were inseparable from
matrimony, and therefore had to be accepted as a sort of toll-bar on the
road to India. The weeks were packed with ceaseless activities: singing
lessons, riding lessons, dressmakers, restaurants, shops, theatres.
It was actually a relief to the overtaxed bride, when they had sped
across the Continent "via Brindisi," to settle down on the big P. & O.
steamer, that throbbed and smelt, and was so strange, yet proved a
paradise of rest and peace compared with London. There were not so many
passengers--it was early in the season--but everyone was interested in
young Mrs. Crayfield; they were all very kind and friendly. Her
deck-chair was always surrounded; her singing was a great success; and
though Santa-Sahib was tiresome in forbidding her to dance or take part
in theatricals on board ship, she had an extremely pleasant voyage.
They landed at Bombay, and oh! the rainbow-coloured crowds, the
splendour, the white, shining buildings, the spicy, intoxicating warmth.
It was all entrancing to Stella, oddly familiar and yet so novel. How
quaint the contradictions of "The Queen of Cities," such a mixture of
dignity and squalor! The best hotel was barrack-like, comfortless, not
over-clean; insects dotted the walls; there were flies in myriads;
doubtful food; yet at that period it was the only possible refuge for
European travellers coming and going.
Santa-Sahib grumbled and scolded; but Stella said what on earth did
comfort and food and cleanliness matter? Were they not _in India_? To
her, all the sights and sounds, the merciless sun, the dust and the
clamour, even the smells, were thrilling. Robert's head servant was
there to meet them, an elderly, important-looking native; his name was
Sher Singh, and he had secured an ayah for the memsahib, a good class
Mohammedan woman who knew her work and understood a little English.
Stella appreciated her quiet movements, her deft attentions, and was not
overawed by "Champa" as she had been by the grand maid in London. The
ayah's attitude towards the Sahib entertained her; it was full of such
humble and modest reverence. She would warn her mistress of the Sahib's
approach as though for the coming of an emperor; turn aside bashfully
when he entered the room, and draw her wrapper over her face. But Sher
Singh! To Stella there was something vaguely sinister about the
bombastic figure that held a weird, elusive reflection of his master's
bearing and outline. The man seemed to watch her furtively, and though
he anticipated her wishes, obeyed her least sign, she felt that beneath
his diligent, obsequious care there lay a smouldering resentment.
"I'm sure Sher Singh is jealous of me," she told her husband; "he looks
on me as an interloper. It's only natural, I suppose, after his long
service with you as a bachelor, but it makes me uncomfortable."
"Nonsense!" he said sharply. "Sher Singh is an invaluable servant.
Whatever you do, don't quarrel with him. It's all your fancy--you don't
understand natives."
"Some day I shall. I mean to!"
"Well, don't begin by misunderstanding Sher Singh. I couldn't do without
him."
There was a note of finality in his voice. It sounded to Stella almost
as though he would prefer to part with her than with Sher Singh! She
determined to banish the little rasp from her mind; after all, what did
it matter? It should not interfere with her enjoyment--Sher Singh was
only a servant.
They stayed long enough in Bombay to dine at the Yacht Club; to visit
the caves of Elephanta, so old, so mysterious; to spend a day with an
English merchant prince, a friend of Colonel Crayfield's, in his palace
on Malabar Hill. And then came the journey up-country: days and nights
in the train, passing from tropical temperature to chilly dawns, first
rushing through scenery grand and austere, Doré-like in its peaks and
valleys, wondrous in the crimson sunset; afterwards vast yellow plains,
relieved by patches of cultivation, villages, groves--mightily
monotonous. Except for the time when she slept, and when they alighted
at echoing stations for unpalatable meals, Stella did not cease to gaze
from the windows of their compartment. The crowds on the platforms of
big junctions and wayside halting-places were fascinating; the family
groups, the varied clothing, the half-naked sellers of fruit and
sweetmeats, the pushing, the shouting, the flurry.
It was midnight when they reached Rassih. The branch line had but lately
been completed, and the railway station was little more than a short
strip of unfinished platform. The station-master, a fat babu, received
the travellers with elaborate civility; and, outside, a curious
conveyance awaited them--like a broad, low dog-cart, hooded, drawn by a
pair of white bullocks, all horns and humps and pendulous dewlaps.
Stella never forgot her first transit through the slumbering city; the
little caves of shops, some dimly illumined; the occasional glimpses of
figures squatting muffled and shapeless, or stretched on rude bedsteads.
From upper storeys floated snatches of sleepy song and the faint twang
of stringed instruments. Pariah dogs nosed and snarled in the gutters.
Beneath the general somnolence lay a ceaseless, subdued undercurrent of
sound that seemed to mingle with stale odours of spice and rancid oil;
above it all the slate-blue sky pressed low, deeply clear, besprinkled
with stars.
The tonga skirted a high wall, cutting through dust so deep that its
progress was hardly audible, turned in through a gateless arch, and
halted before a massive, towering building. Stella, weary, yet excited,
followed her husband up a steep flight of stone steps that terminated in
a vast, whitewashed vestibule; there were countless doors, all open,
screened with short portières. It was cold, gloomy, dim. None of the
lamps that hung on the walls had been turned up; the silence was
oppressive, cheerless.
Robert, muttering angrily, strode ahead and stumbled over a form that
lay swathed, corpse-like, in one of the doorways. A scene ensued that to
Stella was horrifying. The corpse-like figure sprang up with a wild yell
of alarm, and was cuffed and abused by the Sahib. The noise brought a
scampering of bare feet and a swarm of people, hastily binding on
turbans, adjusting garments. It appeared that the servants had all been
asleep, that preparations for the Sahib's arrival were not even begun.
The air shook with the wrath of the Sahib; he would listen to no
explanations; the offenders ran hither and thither; there was confusion,
consternation.
Stella stood by, silent, trembling; she was appalled by her husband's
exhibition of rage; he might murder one of these defenceless people; it
seemed even possible that at any moment he might turn upon her, and kick
and beat and abuse her also! What a ghastly arrival!... Then all at
once there was peace. Sher Singh had arrived with the luggage, and in no
time refreshments were on the table; the dining-room, big as a ballroom,
blazed with light; the Sahib's fury subsided.
To Stella's astonishment the servants conducted themselves as if nothing
extraordinary had happened, and all went well. Robert made no excuse or
apology for his anger; apparently he was unconscious of having behaved,
as it seemed to her, like a madman. He ate and drank with complacence,
asking questions quite amiably at intervals of the rotund attendant who
was evidently chief of the table staff; while Stella, unable for very
fatigue to swallow food, sipped her tea and looked about her with dazed
interest.... What high walls, washed a pale brick colour; how bare the
great room, just a big table and clumsy wooden chairs with arms and cane
seats. On the floor was a sort of thick drugget; it felt hard beneath
her feet. A wood fire had been lighted in a wide open grate; it smelt
fragrant, comforting.... Stella's eyes drooped; the white-clad figures
of the servants grew blurred to her vision; Robert himself, still eating
heartily, seemed to recede in a mist. Then suddenly there arose, from
somewhere outside, a succession of blood-curdling yells, and she
started, wide awake, laid hold of Robert's arm. "Oh, what is it?" she
cried in alarm. "Someone is being killed!"
He laughed and patted her hand reassuringly. "It's only hyenas and
jackals," he told her; "you'll hear it every night--soon get used to
it."
Hyenas and jackals! Wild beasts she would have gazed at in a zoo with
wondering interest were here, close by, and no more to be heeded than if
they had been stray dogs! She remembered that this was India; the weird
noise fired her fancy, and mingled with her dreams that night.
She awoke next morning to a very different sound, the cooing of doves;
bright, hard sunlight streamed through the long door-windows. She found
she had slept late; Champa, bringing tea, said the Sahib had already
gone out, had left orders that the memsahib was not to be disturbed.
Then she bathed--in a bathroom that resembled a prison cell; the tub was
of zinc, and there was a row of red earthenware vessels for the cold
water. Stella thought them very artistic; how Mrs. Daw would love to
paint on them, paint storks and sprays of apple-blossom, and fill them
with dried bulrushes--the very thing for a bazaar!... But there was
nothing that could by any possibility be considered artistic about the
bedroom: the beds were just wooden frames, not even enamelled or
painted; two enormous cupboards stood against the walls; the fireplace
was a cavern; the dressing-table was more suited to a kitchen; and there
were a few clumsy chairs matching those of the dining-room. It was with
a slight feeling of desolation that she began to explore the house; in
the drawing-room was a certain amount of wicker furniture, with loose
cretonne covers of an ugly pattern, a pair of handsome screens, and two
or three richly carved tables; the dining-room she avoided, having
caught sight of servants laying the table; she felt shy of encountering
them. She peeped into other rooms, all of them equally bare and
enormous, comfortless--even the one she supposed must be Robert's study,
since it had a business-like table in the centre, covered with papers.
And yet there was something exhilarating in the airiness, in the sense
of space, the hard brilliance of the sunshine outside, the unfamiliar
scents and sounds that seemed to float everywhere. Her spirits rose as
she wandered out on to a balcony almost wide enough for a dog-cart, and
gazed over a limitless landscape studded with low bushes, and in the
foreground a few ruins of what might have been mosques or dwellings or
tombs. The flat country, stretching for miles to the dusty horizon, was
impressive in its very persistence and sameness, that was without
relief, save for here and there a pillar of dust that swirled upwards,
waltzing madly for a moment as though demon-possessed. Then she watched
a more steady dust-cloud, of a different form, that was wending its way
slowly among the clumps of scrub and stunted bushes; and presently there
came into view a string of camels led by a great beast hung with gaudy
trappings, ridden by a figure swathed in white garments, heavily
turbaned. On they came, a silent, stately procession, moving as though
to the rhythm of a funeral march, men striding beside them in flowing
garments or seated between the great bales slung on either side of the
camels' humps. One or two baby camels shambled along by their
mothers--awkward, woolly creatures, the size of colts, with legs that
appeared too long for their bodies.
Fascinated, Stella watched the cavalcade till it vanished in a cloud of
dust; then she walked to the end of the balcony and looked over the
parapet, down a drop that made her feel giddy. There was nothing below
but heaps of rough stones and bricks, coarse grass, and thorn trees.
Again she glanced over the waterless waste, burning drab and drear in
the hot sunshine, and suddenly she thought of the Common at home, of the
green turf, the gorse and the bracken, the blue distances; she wondered
what grandmamma and the aunts were doing at that moment; she remembered
the smooth lawn and the cedar tree, the little stream.... The unwelcome
pang of home-sickness was discomforting, but it did not last long. As
she turned away the realisation that she was in India, that the life she
so desired had begun, came back to her forcibly; and soon she was
finding pleasure in the garden, in watching the pair of small white
bullocks that drew water from a well in a big leather bucket like a
gigantic sponge-bag; in strolling among the shrubs that flamed with
blossom, scarlet, yellow, pink. There was an orange grove, too, with
real fruit on the trees gleaming golden among glossy foliage. Flights of
green parrots flew screaming above her head; gay-crested little birds
hopped and scuffled in the dust at her feet; small grey squirrels
scampered in every direction. Was there anything at The Chestnuts to
compare with it all?
Santa-Sahib was in good humour when he returned. They had a wonderful
breakfast at midday: a curry of chicken, with snowy rice boiled to
perfection and served separately, not as a border round some réchauffé,
which was old Betty's conception of a curry. Other dishes were numerous,
and fruit was in abundance--oranges, custard apples, loquats; also
delicious little scones. Afterwards Robert took her into the
drawing-room, and told her she could spend what she liked on it; said he
had ordered a piano from Calcutta; it ought to arrive in a day or two
now. He was sure she would wish to have pretty chintz, and silk
cushions, and new curtains. When she asked him if it would not all cost
too much money, he laughed and kissed her, called her his baby. Sher
Singh was summoned, and was bidden to send for a silk merchant from the
bazaar, and to engage a "durzey"--a male person whose duty it would be
to sit in the veranda all day and make curtains and cushions and chair
covers, and anything else the memsahib might desire. Stella felt like a
princess in a fairy tale.
During the next few days the ladies of the station called on the
Commissioner's bride. Mrs. Cuthell, wife of the Deputy Commissioner,
came first; she was a homely human being, anxious to be kind; but her
good-natured intentions were leavened by a natural resentment that her
husband's superior in the service should have married anyone so junior
in years to herself. She said she hoped Mrs. Crayfield would not find
her position too difficult; of course, she would have much to learn.
"Hitherto," she remarked, "I have been the principal lady!" She forced a
smile. "Now I shall be obliged to take a back seat! We were all so
surprised when we heard that Colonel Crayfield was bringing out a wife.
We had looked on him as a confirmed bachelor. Certainly we did not
expect a wife as youthful as yourself!"
"It's a fault I shall grow out of, perhaps," pleaded Stella meekly; and
afterwards Mrs. Cuthell told Mrs. Piggott, the police officer's wife,
that she thought the new bride was rather a cheeky chit. Mrs. Piggott
made haste to ascertain the truth of this opinion for herself. Stella
found her a more entertaining visitor than Mrs. Cuthell, though perhaps
less likeable; Mrs. Cuthell, she felt, meant to be motherly, whereas
Mrs. Piggott, who also seemed quite middle-aged to Stella, assumed the
attitude of a contemporary. She had sharp eyes, a sharp tongue, and
endless stories to tell of the other folk in the station; how the Paynes
(Post Office) brought up their children so badly, talked nothing but
Hindustani to them; what a lot of money the Taylors (Canals) wasted,
getting their stores from Bombay, and things out from home--if they ever
paid for them at all! And _had_ Mrs. Crayfield seen the Antonios--Dr.
Antonio and his wife and daughter? Old Antonio had been an apothecary at
the time of the Mutiny, and had somehow hung on to the position of Civil
Surgeon ever since--he had been years and years at Rassih; the
Government was only too glad to leave him there, regardless of the
feelings of the rest of the station. Why, they were practically natives!
And it was believed they smoked hookahs--certainly their house smelt
like it. Pussy, the daughter (no chicken), had been doing her best to
marry young Smithson, the Taylors' assistant; but she, Mrs. Piggott,
had warned the young man, with the result that just as the Antonios were
expecting him to propose every moment, he had fled into camp. If only
the Antonios could know! They would never speak to her again.
"And no great loss," added Mrs. Piggott, "except that in such a small
station it's a pity to have rows. Then there are the Fosters (railway
people); they are inclined to give themselves airs because they have a
little money of their own, which is unusual in India. But you will see
them all for yourself, my dear. Of course, you will come to the Club? We
all play tennis there every evening, and have tea and pegs, and look at
the English papers."
"I suppose so," said Stella doubtfully; "but my husband hasn't said
anything about it."
"You must cure him of his dull habits. Hitherto he has only had some of
the men to play tennis with him on his own courts, which, of course, are
first-rate, but it's rather unsociable of him. He must not expect _you_
to hold yourself aloof from the rest of us. Now if he won't bring you
himself to the Club just let me know, and I can always pick you up on my
way."
Mrs. Piggott saw herself envied by the station as young Mrs. Crayfield's
bosom friend. She took the first opportunity of telling Mrs. Cuthell,
whom she detested, that Mrs. Crayfield had been perfectly sweet to _her_
when she called, had asked her advice on all kinds of points, and had
taken her into her bedroom to show her the trousseau and the jewellery,
etc.--all of which, by the way, was untrue; but Mrs. Piggott considered
the falsehoods worth while, since it annoyed Mrs. Cuthell and made her
jealous.
Stella thought she would like to belong to the Club; but, to her
surprise, when Robert came to the drawing-room for tea, and she
mentioned the subject, he said he did not wish her to "make herself
cheap"; he disapproved of the Club gatherings--a lot of gossiping women
and silly young men. Once a week--whichever day she liked to select--she
could be "At Home" to the whole station. Their own tennis courts were in
excellent order, and there was no occasion to become intimate with
anyone.
"You will return their calls, of course," he continued, "and we must
give a couple of dinner parties, and there will be your weekly
reception. That will be quite enough. Now go and get on your habit and
we'll have a ride."
Stella obeyed, feeling rather crestfallen. The programme sounded dull.
Was she never to make any friends? And what was Robert's objection to
all these people? Surely she and Robert were not so superior themselves
as to warrant such splendid isolation! However, for the moment she made
no protest; the recollection of her husband's violence on the night of
their arrival was still with her; she feared to provoke him. But there
would seem to be drawbacks to the position of "chief lady of the
station," according to Robert's idea of its fulfilment!
She forgot her vexation in the delight of mounting the handsome chestnut
mare that was to be her own property, and in the softening sunshine
they skirted the high wall of the city and trotted along the unmetalled
footway of the main road beneath splendid trees planted at equal
distances apart. They passed a few compounds with thatched bungalows
standing well back from the dusty road; these dwellings looked humble in
comparison with the palace on the old fort walls that commanded the
huddled bazaar and the scattered European habitations beyond. They met
native vehicles packed with passengers; and riders of miserable ponies
dismounted, making obeisance, as the Commissioner Sahib went by; low
narrow carts, crowded with women and children and merchandise, creaked
along lazily in the middle of the road.
Then they turned from this main thoroughfare and galloped along a broad,
grass-grown canal bank, flanked on one side with luxuriant plantations;
on the other, dull green water flowed steadily, silently, bearing life
to the villages and crops below. Crossing a bridge, they rode to a
village where Colonel Crayfield wished to make some inquiries connected
with his administration; and Stella watched, keenly interested, while
the headman, a patriarch with a long, henna-dyed beard, hurried forth to
make his report, followed by a rabble of peasants who gathered at a
respectful distance to gape at the spectacle of an Englishwoman on
horseback. Now and then a naked child would run boldly into the open,
only to be hauled back shrieking by relations whose reproaches were as
piercing as the culprit's lamentations.
The memsahib gazed at it all, absorbed; she was sorry when her husband
raised his whip to his hat in farewell salutation to the headman, and
they turned their backs on the village and the eager, excited little
crowd. Their return was by a different route, which, to Stella's secret
interest, took them past the Club gardens. Tennis was in progress, and
the spectators were seated in chairs collected around a refreshment
table. Every head was turned in the direction of the riders; the Club
members seemed as eager to behold the lady on horseback as had been the
villagers. It was pleasing to Stella to find herself the object of so
much human curiosity.