It was a lady, whom he had never seen before, fast asleep in his
arm-chair; _the_ arm-chair of bachelor's quarters, which, having served
as a deck lounge on the way out, brings a solitary luxury afterwards to
the bare sitting-room.
Its present occupant appeared to find it comfortable, for she did
not stir. It must be confessed, however, that there was not much to
disturb even a light sleeper, for George's entrance was shy, and his
surprise sufficient to petrify him for a time. She was dressed in a
riding-habit, and a pair of neatly-booted feet rested on the only other
chair in the room. Evidently she had made herself quite at home, for a
helmet and veil lay with her gloves familiarly beside the cup and
saucer set out on the table for the young man's breakfast. Altogether
there was an air of easy proprietorship about the figure which lay with
throat and cheek sharply outlined against the Turkey red cushions; one
hand tucked behind the fair, rumpled hair, the other resting slackly on
the knee. It increased George Keene's shyness by making him feel an
intruder even in his own room, and without a word he turned,
instinctively, to leave it. As he did so a glitter on the floor at his
feet made him stoop to find a diamond pin. He stepped aside to lay it
out of harm's way on the mantelpiece, and in so doing caught a closer
view of the half-averted face.
When he slipped out again into the verandah, he stood with his hands in
his pockets and whistled softly; it was a habit of his when taken
aback. A most surprising adventure indeed! An Englishwoman--a perfectly
beautiful one into the bargain--at Hodinuggur alone! How on earth had
she come there? From Rajpore, seventy odd miles of sheer desert to the
north, or from the south? The Chief's camp had arranged to cross the
sandy strip in that direction, perhaps on its return to look in on
Hodinuggur, but that did not account for her being alone.
The factotum having disappeared into the cook-room, George, in order to
avoid calling, strolled thither, intent on further information. In so
doing he became aware of his groom at work on a strange horse. The
Huzoor was right, said the man with a grin, it was the mem's, and was
it to have three or four pounds of grain? George, noticing the little
Arab's hanging head, suggested a bran mash, and went on feeling as if
he had tumbled into another person's dream. Yet no more was to be
discovered. The mem had come, sent her horse round, and gone to sleep
in the sahib's arm-chair. Furthermore, what did the Huzoor mean to do
about his breakfast?
George, who, to tell truth, was beginning to feel the pangs of hunger,
hesitated between awaking his guest and taking his bath. He chose the
latter alternative, moved thereto by the remembrance that he would be
none the worse for a clean collar and what he termed 'all that sort of
thing'; but half an hour afterwards, when he returned to the verandah
with the refreshingly clean look of a newly-tubbed young Englishman,
the situation had not improved. It had become worse, for, while the
lady still slept, George felt ravenous; nor could he turn to his pipe
as a palliative lest she should wake suddenly to find him reeking of
tobacco--for he had always been a bit of a dandy, and fastidious over
such things. This did not prevent him from feeling injured. No woman,
be she ever so beautiful, had a right to take possession of a fellow's
breakfast as she had done; and yet it was not so much her fault as the
detestable Indian lack of pantries and larders, which led to every
plate and knife, every eatable, save the desert-fowl in the cook-room,
being, as it were, under the immediate guardianship of the Sleeping
Beauty. Even if the store-closet had been in the bedroom, he might have
'vittled free, off sardines and captain's biscuit. And still she slept.
At last, in sheer desperation, he determined to wake her; and, raising
the screen, was beginning a preparatory cough, when the sight of the
breakfast-table suggested the possibility of a raid. The next instant
his shoes were off and the boyhood in him uppermost, as he stole in,
his eyes on the sleeper. 'A good conscience, and no mistake,' he
thought, as he annexed the loaf and a tin of sardines. 'One of the
Seven Sleepers, surely!'--this as he passed more leisurely to a pat of
butter and a knife and fork; these he piled on the loaf, with a
spoonful or two of marmalade. Apparently she had no intention of
awakening for days! This thought led to a cup and some tea from the
canister, finally to a milk jug; the latter proving fatal, for in
retiring backward with his spoil through the screen, its contents
dribbled on to his best suit, and the effort to prevent this,
overbalanced the spoon of marmalade, which fell with a clatter.
Some people wake to the full enjoyment of their faculties, and with the
first glance of those grey-blue eyes, George saw that concealment--with
half the breakfast-table clasped to his bosom--was impossible. He
blushed furiously, and began to apologise; which was foolish, since
excuses, if due at all, were clearly owed by the sleeper. She did not,
however, make any.
'How kind of you not to disturb me before, Mr. Keene,' she interrupted
in a charming voice. 'Have you been in long?'
Her coolness increased his apologies, making him assert on the
contrary, he had but just returned. Only being rather in a hurry for
his breakfast----
'Apparently,' she interrupted again. 'Dear me, what a very
miscellaneous meal it would have been! But, as I am awake, hadn't you
better put it all down before the marmalade runs into the sardines?
Then, as I am quite as hungry as you can possibly be, you might tell
the man to bring breakfast.'
George, if a trifle taken aback by her nonchalance, felt grateful for
the opportunity, given with such easy grace, of getting at his shoes
again before beginning explanations. On his return he noticed that she,
also, had made use of the time to tidy her hair and restore a general
daintiness of appearance. As he entered she was stooping to look under
the table as if to seek something she had lost.
'It is a little diamond pin,' she said; 'I left it here with my
gloves.'
'No,' he answered quickly, off his guard. 'It was on the floor--I
mean--I--I think it is on the mantelpiece.'
'Thanks, so much!' She took it gravely ere going back to the arm-chair.
Then she looked up at him archly.
'Was I snoring dreadfully when you came in first, Mr. Keene?'
For the third time since he had become aware of her presence he
blushed.
'Snoring?--oh dear no,' he began angrily.
'That is a relief. I was afraid I must have been, to make you perjure
yourself so. As if any sane woman could believe that you went about
Hodinuggur in that costume! I believe you have been in for hours and
hours, and I'm so sorry, Mr. Keene; but you will forgive me when you
hear my tale of woe.'
George, with an odd little rapture at the thought, told himself he
could forgive her anything because she was so beautiful.
'I'm Mrs. Boynton,' she went on; 'you will have heard of me, I expect,
from Rose?'
He told her that he had heard of her from most people at Rajpore, which
was the truth; but he did not say, which was also the truth, that their
praises of her looks seemed to him miserably inadequate. No doubt,
however, she saw this in his eyes, though she had too large an
acquaintance with the expression to take any interest in it. Nice boys
always admired her immensely, and this one looked very nice, with the
beauty of cleanliness on him from head to foot, so she detailed her
adventures with that confidence in sympathy and help which is such a
charm to very young men. To say sooth George deserved it, for he was
one of those who are born to stand between their womenfolk and that
necessity for taking the initiative which--_pace_ the strong-minded
sisters--most women cordially detest, and which is the cause of half
the nervous exhaustion of the present age. So after a very short time
he took possession of her future even more decidedly than she had taken
possession of his bungalow. Briefly, the case lay thus. Colonel
Tweedie's camp, owing to the increasing heat, had changed its route
slightly, and was due, as the incoming post would doubtless let George
know, at Hodinuggur next morning. To do this it had doubled up two
marches across the desert into one, so as to include some inspection
work before turning at right angles along the canal. Owing to this and
some good sport on the way, every one had started by daybreak through
the Bar; that is to say, hard waste land dotted with tufts of grey
caper-bushes, and stunted trees, just high enough and thick enough to
prevent one seeing more than twenty or thirty yards in any direction,
since beyond that the clumps became a continuous hedge shutting out the
world. Colonel Tweedie and his immediate staff having ridden on in
haste, the shooting party, beguiled by the prospect of bustards, had
spread themselves through the jungle on one side of the track, followed
by their horses and grooms. Mrs. Boynton, however, preferring such road
as there was, had been walking her horse along it in the expectation of
being rejoined, when the sudden firing of an unseen gun made her Arab
bolt. First along the track, then missing it at a bend, the beast had
swerved into some bushes, where a thorny branch had caught in his long
tail, making him perfectly unmanageable. After a mile or more, he had
apparently broken into the track again, and sobered down to a walk,
much to her delight. Then a solitary native traveller had passed, and
assured her, as she imagined, that she was right for the sahib-logue's
camp; so she had trotted on, until, fearing she might lose the track
once more, she had been foolish enough to walk her horse back on its
traces, thus completely losing all her bearings. Finally, at a fork in
the almost invisible path, she had been forced to confess that she had
not the least idea in which direction her destination lay, north or
south, east or west; the sun, therefore, being of little use to her as
a guide. (Here her pretty smile growing a trifle tremulous, made George
profusely indignant with the desert.) Then, regaining her head, she
remembered to have heard Mr. Fitzgerald--who, as Mr. Keene would know,
had of course joined the camp on its entrance into the division--say
that the more open country lay eastward, and so she had ridden as
straight as she could into the shadows, that being her best chance of
steering aright. (Here George grew clamorous over her courage.)
Nevertheless, it had almost failed, she said, when on a sudden the
great silver streak of the canal had appeared from among the bushes,
and she had ridden along its banks till she came to a treeless waste
with a big mound looming in the far distance.
'I knew it must be Hodinuggur,' she finished with a sort of caress to
her own comfort among the pillows, 'by Mr. Fitzgerald's description,
and I knew you from Rose Tweedie's, so I felt it was all right. And
now, Mr. Keene! don't you wonder I didn't snore, considering I had been
in the saddle for eight hours?'
George protested it was virtue itself for her to wake at all; but that
she would have the whole day to rest, as it was manifestly impossible
for her to return to the camp; absurd also, since the latter was to
come on to Hodinuggur next day. So he would send to the Diwan and
borrow a camel sowar, who would ride over with a note telling of her
safety in the bungalow, and asking for anything she might require. For
the rest, all he had was at her service.
'But I shall be turning you out of house and home, shan't I?' she asked
kindly.
The young fellow's eyes softened. 'I don't think I ever thought of it
as a home before,' he said with an embarrassed laugh at his own words;
'but won't you come to breakfast? It's awfully nasty, I'm afraid----'
'Then we can fall back on the sardines and the marmalade,' she
interrupted gravely. This gravity was with her a perfect art, and gave
a great charm to her gentle raillery.
Perhaps the food was nasty; if so, George, for one, did not mind except
for her sake. He thought of nothing but her comfort; of how he could
welcome her to take possession of everything, himself included. Was she
not the most beautiful, the most fascinating, the most perfect woman he
had ever seen? Did she not deserve the best he could give her? So,
while she was writing the note for the camel sowar, George slipped away
to give instructions to the factotum. The bedroom must be swept and
garnished, and the things pitched away anywhere. The drawers must be
re-papered, a towel put on the dressing-table, and---- What a beastly
hole it was, he thought ruefully as he left the man to his own devices;
but half an hour afterwards his face cleared; for the factotum, having
been in good services, had risen to the occasion. Not only was there a
towel on the dressing-table, but two empty beer-bottles had been
modestly draped into candlesticks, with the gilt ends of the pugree he
had received from the Diwan, while the remainder of the muslin was
festooned about the looking-glass. Azizan's portrait stood on the
mantel-shelf with the Ayodhya pot in front, and two dinner plates on
either side, the arrangement being completed by two of his best ties
knotted in bows about his hunting crop, and the kitchen fan. A tinsel
veil, borrowed from the compounder of _egg-sarse_, did duty as a
bed-spread, supported by his Cooper's Hill tennis muffler as an
antimacassar. In the middle of the room the factotum still lingered,
benign and superior, one hand holding a hammer and tacks, the other a
pair of striped silk socks, with the decorative effect of which he was
evidently enamoured. In addition, a figure swathed in white sat
modestly behind the dressing-room door.
'It is my house,' said the man, with a large smile. 'Since it is not to
be tolerated that the abode of princes should lack a female slave, the
woman, at my command, takes the part of ayah. The Huzoor may rest
satisfied. Azizan's knowledge of the mems equals this slave's of the
sahibs.'
Azizan! The smile left George's lips at the name; and before leaving
the room he thrust the portrait into a cupboard, replacing it by an
illuminated text which was lying neglected under a pile of wire
cartridges.
'The Huzoor is right,' declared the factotum cheerfully. 'The mems have
them ever in their rooms. Lo! nothing is amiss.'
George, as he turned at the door for a last look, felt that the advice,
'Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together' emblazoned in
Gothic characters, holly, and mistletoe, which a maiden aunt had sent
him as a Christmas present, did indeed put the finishing touch to the
solitude of the wilderness.
'But where are you going?' asked Gwen.
'I? Oh! they'll give me quarters in the palace, I expect. Perhaps I'd
better go over now and see about it. Then I've inspection work,
and--and a heap of other things. So perhaps I'd better say good-bye.
I've told the servants about lunch and all that sort of thing. And your
traps will be here before dark.'
A very nice boy, indeed, thought Mrs. Boynton, and showed her thought.
So George went over to the palace feeling quite intoxicated because he
had been instructed without fail to dine in his own house; and after he
had settled about his quarters with Dalel, and had ridden off on his
fictitious tour of inspection, he dug the spurs into his pony out of
sheer lightness of heart, and went sailing away over the desert,
careless even of the direction in which he went.
Dalel meanwhile had repaired to the shadowy arches in a state of
boastful superiority. His friend Keene was coming over to stop in the
palace. They would play cards, and be jolly, and drink. And the lad
always carried the key of the sluice-gate on his watch-chain.
'It is a chance indeed,' said Chandni, with a queer look. Then after a
time broke in on Dalel's vapourings by snatching the banjo from the
wall and breaking into a respectable and plaintive love-song.
'Lo! thou hast thy way, and I have mine,' she laughed recklessly. 'Let
us see who succeeds best.' So slipping on the decent white domino, she
set off for the palace, and turned down the dark passage leading to the
women's apartments. Doubtless it was a chance which must not be
neglected.
Between his desire not to disturb Mrs. Boynton's kindness too early,
and his dislike to becoming a prey to Dalel at the palace, George in
the end had to gallop his pony the last four miles, and then found
himself with but ten minutes in which to dress. But he dashed up the
narrow stair leading to the odd little arcaded room placed at his
disposal by the Diwan, feeling confident in the factotum's forethought;
and, sure enough, on the silk coverlet of the high lacquered bed lay
his dress-clothes and white tie complete. Nothing else, except his
sleeping-suit; so, choice being denied him, he flung himself into
ceremonious black, discovering as he did so that two or three jasmine
blossoms and a sprig of maidenhair fern had been pinned into the
button-hole of his coat. The factotum was evidently determined he
should play the right game. As he ran down the stairs again he wondered
whence the man could possibly have procured the fern, and then
remembered having seen a few fronds clinging, far down on the
masonry of his well, into which the canal water filtered. The seed
of this hill-born plant must have filtered with it; just as these
strange items of knowledge--the shibboleth of dress-clothes and
button-holes--filtered into the brains of these odd people. Life in
Hodinuggur was really very amusing, and full of delightful surprises.
Yesterday he had been waiting--without a collar!--for a Barmecidal
feast, to-day in swallow-tail and a button-hole he was going to dine
with the most beautiful woman in the world! and there, like a fairy
tale, was the branded bungalow illuminated out of all recognition. And
inside were more wonders in a table set out with flowers, and Mrs.
Boynton coming forward to greet him with a bouquet of jasmine and
maidenhair amid the soft ruffles of her white dress. It was humiliating
yet still amusing, having to confess it came, not from his courtesy,
but the factotum's sense of duty. Then the very sight of the man
himself, in spotless raiment, lording it over Mrs. Boynton's kitmutgar
was pure comedy. In fact when, dinner being over, George was left face
to face with three napkin-swathed black bottles hung with foolscap
tickets of port, sherry, claret, engrossed in the village
schoolmaster's best hand, he gave one look at Mrs. Boynton before
exploding into laughter, while she vowed to keep the _menu_ to her
dying day, if only to show the folly of allowing facts to interfere
with fancy.
By and by, when coffee came in--the factotum diffident over the
breakfast cups but triumphant over the under-footman with hot milk and
sugar on a dinner-plate--they laughed again; yet the laughter brought a
moisture to George Keene's merry grey eyes. In a vague way the boy knew
what had happened, knew that the most beautiful woman in the world had
not only taken possession of house and home, but of body and soul; and
he was glad of it, despite the moisture in his eyes--glad to the
heart's core as he chattered away confidentially, while she listened
graciously, thinking what a charming boy he was, and what an excellent
husband he would make by-and-bye for any girl. What an admirable
son-in-law, in short, he would have made if she had had a daughter and
he had had money; for women of her sort view mankind chiefly from the
matrimonial point of view, and seek to give variety to the question by
importing into it all their female friends.
'That reminds me,' she said, as she listened to the hope that she was
fairly comfortable which George tacked on to his good-night. 'You have
the most fascinating blue pot on your mantelpiece. Where did you get
it?'
'Do you really like it?' he asked eagerly; 'if so, you can have it.'
'My dear boy!' she laughed, 'I don't mean to appropriate _everything_
you possess.'
He looked at her with shining happy eyes. 'But it isn't mine as yet; it
belongs to some one, though, who wants to sell it, and if you would
give it to me, now, I'd finish the bargain to-morrow morning and you
shall have it back by breakfast-time if it is to be had for love or
money.'
Love or money! The old formula came carelessly to his lips.
Azizan meanwhile, crouching behind one of the palace arcades, and
wondering when she would hear his foot on the stairs, was echoing the
thought in another language. She was trembling all over from
excitement, and fear, and hope; of what, she scarcely knew, she did not
understand. They had dressed her in her best beneath the flimsy white
veil which pretended to conceal the finery it really enhanced, and
surely, she thought, if he had deemed her pretty when in that dreadful
old shroud, he would be still kinder now. They had bidden her ask for
the Ayodhya pot, and take him to settle the price with her mother. But
of doing this she was not sure; she was sure of nothing save that she
must see him again--must see him to make certain that he was not vexed.
And then she would tell him that traps were being laid for him--at
least she might tell him--but come what might she must see him; ay! and
he must see her as she ought to be seen.
It was not a very safe interruption for George to have found awaiting
him in the long moonlit shadows of the arcades had he been in the same
mood as the girl; not even though all the plotting and scheming would
have seemed incredibly absurd to him at any time, and in any mood.
Indeed, even by the dim light of the cook-room, where the factotum was
putting away a copy of the _menu_ among his certificates as proof
positive of his acquaintance with the appetites of the ruling race,
Chandni's snare would have met with the derision it deserved; but in
the dark intricacies of palace politics it seemed simple enough,
especially to one of her vile experiences.
But as it so happened George never went near the palace. He sat on the
canal bridge till dawn, smoking one pipe after another, and looking
aimlessly, dreamily at the dark windows of the bungalow. No one could
have foreseen this, not even the lad himself. He had no intention of
out-watching the stars when the balmy air and a feeling of measureless
content first tempted him to pause and set aside the forgetfulness of
sleep for a time--or would it have been sleep when _she_ was in the
desert alone, with God knows what ruffians about? A rage grew up in him
at the thought of Dalel and his kind, until the palace itself became
distasteful. So, almost before he realised that he was on the watch,
the gurglings of many camels and the thud of a mallet told him that the
advanced guard of the big camp had arrived, and sent him across to the
camping ground to warn the tent pitchers to be as quiet as possible.
'May the angels of the Lord pitch their tents around us this night,
used to be the favourite bidding prayer of a certain Scotch divine when
he ministered to a volunteer congregation, until one day a veteran
happening to be there said audibly, 'Then I'm hopin, they'll no mak
muckle noise wi' the tent-pegs.' A tale which shows the danger of
imperfect local colouring; a fact which was to be brought home that
night both to Dalel and Chandni, for even then George did not return to
the champagne and the snares. That incomprehensible love of the
picturesque on which the latter had counted, kept him engrossed in the
novel sight of a canvas city rising like magic from the bare sand.
First came an autocrat with measuring tape and pegs mapping the ground
into squares; then, one by one, in its appointed place, a great ghost
of a thing, flapping white wings against the purple sky, to rise stiff
and square above? fringe of even silvery ropes.
It was not until a saffron-coloured glint in the east startled him into
the thought that he was a confounded ass, that George, out of sheer
lightheartedness, ran all the way back to the palace, stumbled up the
steep stairs, and threw himself into the high lacquered bed to fall
asleep before the saffron had faded into daylight. Perhaps it was as
well, since even the Hodinuggur sun, which had been at work since the
beginning of all things, might have stared to see a masher in dress
clothes knocking into a Moghul palace with the milk. It stared instead
at a more familiar sight; at a girl, face down on a bare string bed in
the women's quarters, sobbing as if her heart would break.