A FRESH START
From the nearest railway station to Silliram, our journey south
was both monotonous and dusty. The country we passed through was
disappointingly flat and uninteresting; a reddish brown plain, broken
here and there by serrated hills of red sandstone, which at times gave
the illusive impression of castles, battlements and fortresses.
During our long _tête-à-tête_, Ronnie and I had found plenty to say
to one another on many subjects, besides lengthy discussions on Aunt
Mina’s delinquencies and Mrs. Hayes-Billington’s past. With respect to
these topics Ronnie was forcibly eloquent.
“Of course Aunt Mina wanted to get rid of you at any price, although
she wrote me a gushing letter, saying she had made the most delightful
arrangements for your happiness; but as far as she was really
concerned, you might have gone to the devil!--and you _did_ go to the
devil in one way when you set up house with Mrs. Hayes-Billington! The
more I think of it, the more furious I feel. To have been chaperoned
and brought out by such a woman is enough to blast the name of any
girl; and if one of the Secunderabad cats were to get hold of this
story you would be simply down and out! The sound thing to do is to
pretend you have only just arrived from England, and drop those weeks
in ‘The Dovecot’ out of your life.”
“That’s all very fine, Ronnie,” I protested, “but it’s not so easy
to drop bits of one’s life like that. Numbers of people knew me at
Silliram. Supposing some of them were to come down here?”
“Not much fear of that,” he answered emphatically. “The Silliram crowd
seldom travel south--their beat is Bombay.”
“After all, Mrs. Hayes-Billington is not such a coal-black sheep,” I
urged. “In many ways she is a good soul, generous and unselfish, and
never says a nasty thing about anyone. I believe lots of women have
been divorced and are allowed to creep back into society by degrees.”
“My good girl, don’t talk about what you don’t understand! Mrs.
Hayes-Billington’s case broke the record. Of course her reputation as a
beauty made her rather conspicuous, her track was strewn with victims.
There is a legend that more than one silly fool committed suicide on
account of her. The man she went off with was enormously rich--it
was an absolutely mercenary affair. However, he didn’t marry her,
and left her to prey about the world. Apparently she picked up with
Hayes-Billington, who by all accounts is a thundering ass!”
“The man Mrs. Hayes-Billington ran away with could not marry her
because he died,” I explained impressively.
“Oh, did he? Well, I don’t see that that makes much difference,” was
Ronnie’s amazing reply. “Although you made such a bad start I expect
you and I will have a real good time housekeeping together, won’t we,
old girl?”
“I hope so,” I replied. “I have learnt a little about prices and
things, and a few words of Hindustani.”
“Oh, you don’t want Hindustani at Secunderabad. Most of the natives
speak and write English. My butler was with a married couple before he
came to me; he will help you to run the show, and will tell you all
about the Hali sicca rupee, which is worth ninety-six dubs--a dub is
like a scrap off an old copper kettle. We shall fix up No. 30 quarter
in grand style, and have our little dinners and bridge parties. Mrs.
Soames will take you out, and I have a ripping pony that you can ride.
You’d think to look at her--I mean Mrs. Soames, not the pony--that she
was a stiff-necked old maid, as narrow-minded as they make ’em, but she
really is awfully kind and soft, and does so enjoy being a colonel’s
wife in India, and entertaining the regiment and fussing over soldiers’
wives. ‘James’ is bound to take to you. Between ourselves, it’s my
opinion that James would like to flirt a bit in his hours of ease. You
will like Major and Mrs. Mills, our only other married couple, beside
the quartermaster, though Mrs. Mills is wrapped up in her nursery and
housekeeping.”
Before we reached Wadi Junction, I had received an outline of what my
future friends, amusements and duties were likely to be, as described
in an offhand sketchy manner by my brother.
As we changed on to the Nizam’s State Railway, Ronnie met a racing
acquaintance, and, with many apologies, they both retired into a
smoking carriage--there to discuss important forthcoming events;
meanwhile I made a sort of toilet, arranged my hair and hat, and dusted
my frock, in order to assure a presentable appearance on arrival.
At Secunderabad station we were met by Mrs. Soames herself; a slight,
smartly-dressed, elderly woman, with a long thin face and an immense
unnatural looking fringe. She gave me a cordial welcome, and soon we
were trotting up towards Trimulgherry behind a pair of fast bay cobs.
After the usual journey talk, I said: “It is so very, very kind of you
to take me in--a sort of waif and stray.”
“Why of course,” she replied, “I am only too glad to come to your
rescue. Your brother is one of my favourites, he _is_ such a dear
fellow. Although so popular he is so thoughtful and unspoiled, and
when he brought me Captain Vesey’s letter I saw at once that there was
nothing for it but that he must go and fetch you here. By and by we
shall settle you into a nice quarter, close to ours, and I will be your
chaperon. No, no, you really must not thank me so much. I am fond of
girls, and I shall be delighted to have your company. Just one little
word of caution,” extending as she spoke an exquisitely gloved hand,
“do not mention Mrs. Hayes-Billington here. If it leaked out that you
had been brought to India and associated with such a disreputable
character, the result might be most distressing. Although the largest
station in India, Secunderabad is extraordinarily proper and correct. I
have been here for three years and we have not had _one_ scandal! There
is the club,” she broke off, “our great rendezvous for tennis, dances,
bridge--and, I think I may call it, the heart of the station.”
I leant forward, and gazed at an imposing two-storey building on my
left, which stood in a spacious and well planted compound. Then, bowing
to people on horseback, Mrs. Soames continued:
“You ride of course?”
“Yes, I love it,” I answered promptly, “Mrs. Hayes-Billington and I
hired ponies by the week, and rode everywhere.”
“My dear girl, _please_ don’t mention that woman’s name,” she protested
in a plaintive voice.
“Well, may I say something, just for once? I do not think she was
really so dreadfully to blame--her children were taken away--she was so
much alone--I cannot help feeling sorry for her.”
“What are you saying? _Sorry_ for her!”
“Yes, she told me her story the night before I left; it was not so
bad--but rather sad----”
“She threw dust in your eyes of course!” interrupted my companion,
bristling up and speaking with great asperity. “Those abandoned
creatures make themselves out to be martyrs of circumstances; and
indeed, my dear, I should not be discussing such a woman with a girl
like you. Now here we are, and there is James awaiting us.”
As she spoke, we were whirled in between two gate piers and came to a
standstill before a solidly built bungalow, with a round, bowed sort
of veranda. With hospitable agility, Colonel Soames sprang down the
steps to greet me and handed me out of the victoria. He was a wiry
little man, with keen granite grey eyes, a small sandy moustache, and a
remarkably square jaw. Judging by his figure and youthful appearance,
he might have been a mere captain instead of the officer commanding a
notable regiment.
I was conducted into a perfectly appointed quarter, a C.O.’s
bungalow--light, airy, and furnished to suit the climate. My room was
not large, but looked most attractive, with its white bed, pink rugs,
and pretty flowered chintz.
“Now make yourself quite at home,” said Mrs. Soames, “we have a few
people dining, but, if you feel too tired after your journey, as soon
as we go into the drawing-room, you can just slip away.”
Fortunately my clever ayah Mary had squeezed quite a goodly amount
of raiment into a small trunk, and I was able to appear in a smart
black evening gown, for which my hopeful aunt had paid no less a sum
than twenty guineas. It seemed to me that there was a crowd in the
drawing-room as I entered, but we only mustered twelve, including
Ronnie and myself. I heard Mrs. Soames inform her guests that I was
“just out from home!” Her tone and glance implied that I had arrived no
later than yesterday, and I was plied with all sorts of questions by
the two men between whom I sat at the dinner table with respect to the
latest books, plays and news. As I gave rather vague and unsatisfactory
answers, I’m afraid they looked upon me as a stupid sort of girl,
or perhaps ascribed my lame replies to my strangeness in this new
environment, or the fatigue of a journey from Bombay. So apparently my
six weeks at Silliram were to be as though they were not, and I was
beginning my career in Secunderabad with a smothered scandal and a
secret!
The dinner party, as a dinner, was a great success. The cooking,
waiting, appointments, and flowers could not have been bettered
at Torrington; these native servants were certainly more deft and
light-footed than Baker and his subordinates.
I slept soundly in the delightful “Europe” bed, between lavender
scented sheets. This airy solid bungalow (_pucka_ built) was a
delicious change from the damp and mouldy “Dovecot.” The hours of the
house were early and of military punctuality, and seven o’clock found
me sitting in the veranda, having _chota-hazri_ with my hostess, who
was, as usual, full of animation and conversation.
As she talked I watched the _bheesti_ and a _mali_ working in the
garden; the former with his great _mussick_ filling waterpots and
the latter sitting on his heels, wrapped in a _cumblie_, digging very
deliberately among tomato plants. My hostess explained to me that our
lines were what is called “in the entrenchment,” although the officers’
quarters were outside the fosse and the barracks. These were built back
to back, thus ensuring absolute privacy, and each had its own large
compound. She pointed out the double-storey mess-house, which faced us
across a maidan, and was dimly seen through clumps of flaming “gold
mohur” and other trees. Not far to the left of the mess-house lay the
jail, which was castellated, and known by the name of “Windsor Castle.”
Then, taking me by the arm, she led me to a corner of the veranda
and introduced me to yet another scene. Behind our quarters lay the
Trimulgherry bazaar, overlooked by its celebrated “Gun Rock.” This was
merely a large piece of granite, shaped precisely like a cannon, and
apparently laid and ready to blow the place to pieces. Presumably it
had been in this position for hundreds of years.
On his way from parade Ronnie dashed in to visit me. This was the first
time I had seen him in his uniform. He looked very smart and soldierly
and was riding a perfect darling of a pony, a bright bay with black
points.
“I just dropped in to find out if you were alive after yesterday,”
he said. “You look all right. I believe Mrs. Soames is taking you to
call on the ladies of the regiment this morning. Only Mrs. Mills, the
major’s wife, and the quartermaster’s old woman; afterwards, she is
sure to bring you down to the club and show you who’s who. I am playing
polo up at Bolarum, but keep your pecker up--I’ll see you again before
dinner,” and he wheeled about his pony, and was gone.