A RENEWED FRIENDSHIP
Captain Falkland presented a striking appearance in his A.D.C. uniform,
mounted on a fine black horse. He looked thoroughly at home in the
saddle.
“Behold that faithless man!” cried Mrs. Wolfe excitedly; “how _am_ I to
get hold of him?”
“I suppose the general has been inspecting something, as he is on
duty,” said Mrs. Potter, “and there is the dog that is always at his
heels.”
“Lord Runnymede’s only son is dead,” observed a lady, who was now
one of the company on “the cake.” “He was always a poor consumptive
creature, and Captain Falkland is the next heir. What a chance for some
girl!”
“Oh, he’s not a marrying man,” declared Mrs. Wolfe with brisk decision;
“he bars girls, and naturally he would never think of one of our
‘spins’ out here.”
In answer to an agitated signal with a newspaper, Captain Falkland
approached. He was now on foot.
“Oh, I’ve been trying to catch your eye for ages,” screamed Mrs. Wolfe.
“You never answered my chit, and you know you half promised to take me
on the lake to-morrow. Do; come and have tiffin first.”
He shook his head, and, before he had time to speak, she hastily added:
“Oh then, I’ll meet you at the boathouse! I don’t intend to let you
off. An hour’s rowing on the Hussain Saugur will be _so_ good for you!”
Just at this moment Captain Falkland’s eye caught mine, and he
exclaimed:
“Miss Lingard! Well, I am astonished. When did you come out?”
I was prevented from answering by Kipper, who had also recognised me,
and sprang into my lap in a state of hysterical delight, ruining my
nice clean white linen with the red dust off his paws.
“So you and Miss Lingard have already met?” said Mrs. Soames, and I
noticed that Mrs. Wolfe honoured me with a piercing stare.
“Oh yes, we knew one another at home,” he replied, and then this bold
man stepped up and took a chair on “the cake”--the one just vacated by
Mrs. Lakin.
“When did you arrive?” he repeated.
“Only the other day,” rejoined Mrs. Soames, evidently afraid that I
would give myself away, and I sat by in helpless acquiescence. “Miss
Lingard is staying with me.”
“Kip is awfully pleased to see you,” he said, addressing me
particularly.
“Yes, isn’t it nice of him?--and it is more than six months since we
parted. He was once my property,” I added, looking over at my chaperon.
After this evidently unexpected announcement there was a significant
pause, and some of the ladies exchanged glances.
“How did you leave them at Torrington?” inquired my neighbour.
“Oh, very well, thank you. They all came to see me off from London.”
“What steamer did you come out in?” demanded Mrs. Potter, but I
pretended not to hear, and said:
“Dora is married, as I dare say you know, and Bev has decided to go
into the Diplomatic Service.”
“Sorry for the Service,” muttered Captain Falkland.
“I wonder if you came out in the _Modena_?” persisted Mrs. Potter,
who I could see was boiling over with questions, but Mrs. Soames, an
efficient general, now rose and said:
“I promised to look for a book for Jimmy, and I had nearly forgotten
it--something to do with military law--arrived in the last batch. Come
along, Miss Lingard, and I will show you the library.”
Captain Falkland rose to attend upon us, but was instantly arrested
by Mrs. Wolfe, who figuratively flung herself upon him. She was one
of those women who triumphantly capture the attention of men--be they
never so wary--and thrust the rest of her sex ruthlessly aside. We
left her holding her prey by the sheer force of her volubility, and
talking with surpassing gesticulation and animation; but presently with
surprising adroitness he managed to escape and joined us.
“So you and Miss Lingard were acquainted in England?” said my chaperon.
“Oh, rather--we are connections. My people and Miss Lingard’s have
lived within a few miles of one another for centuries. The Falklands
and the Lingards are old and trusted friends.”
“How amusing! I had no idea of this,” said Mrs. Soames; nor had the
poor deceived lady any idea that the speaker and I had only spoken to
one another on two occasions!
“You must come and dine with us,” she continued hospitably, “just a
quiet little family dinner.”
As they were arranging the day and hour, I stood aloof talking to Kip,
and was astonished to behold yet another familiar face and form. Could
I believe my eyes? There was Mr. Balthasar descending from an imposing
grey motor.
He crossed the compound quickly and accosted Ronnie, who had just
ridden in from polo; they talked eagerly together as the latter
dismounted and his pony was led away. I noticed that Ronnie took Mr.
Balthasar familiarly by the arm and spoke to him earnestly for some
minutes, whilst from time to time Balthasar nodded his close-shaven
bullet head in emphatic agreement. Undoubtedly Balthasar had heard of
my arrival, had possibly seen me and informed Ronnie of our former
meeting, and Ronnie had pledged him to silence. Now, including Captain
Vesey, there were four people who held the secret of my past.
As Mrs. Soames and I moved towards our victoria, escorted by Captain
Falkland, Ronnie took a few steps towards us, but his companion stood
stock-still, and looked at me as blankly as if he had never seen me
before. Then one of his thick black lashes quivered slightly. Yes, it
was an unmistakable wink!
As our carriage wheeled about to thread its way among a crowd of other
vehicles I beheld Mrs. Wolfe “descend upon the fold.” She seized the
helpless A.D.C. and carried him off in triumph to the _morghi-khana_.
The next afternoon Mrs. Soames and I drove up to the polo ground to
witness a match, in which Ronnie greatly distinguished himself. He was
captain of the regimental team, rode splendidly, and was remarkably
well mounted. I could see that he was an important factor in the local
polo world. I noticed Mrs. Lakin in a dreadful old phaeton, drawn by a
bony chestnut horse. As she caught sight of us she waved her hand with
effusion.
“Isn’t she a funny old thing?” said Mrs. Soames. “She lives down at
Begumpett, where her husband commands a regiment, and she dresses
like a caretaker, but is such a good, generous woman, so kind to the
natives, Eurasians, and poor whites. She spends on others--saves on
herself. To my certain knowledge she has had that toque ever since I
came to the station. If anyone is ill, it’s Mrs. Lakin to the front; if
anyone is in trouble, they turn to Mrs. Lakin. Her husband is a smart,
well-set-up man, and looks years younger than his dowdy wife. Their
bungalow is on the style of forty years ago, quite a curiosity. They
have queer old furniture and Argand lamps, but give capital dinners
in the good solid style; everything in the most lavish profusion.
Masses of servants, dozens of courses, wonderful curries, and such
tender mutton! She is the secretary of our Mutton Club. It is really
an historical object lesson to dine with the Lakins, and to learn how
things were done--say at the time of the battle of Plassey.”
“I wish she would invite me to dinner,” I replied. “She is a nice,
confidential, motherly old thing, adores India, and cannot endure the
idea of leaving the country.”
“No, I dare say not,” said Mrs. Soames; “all her children were born
and most of her relations are buried out here. Her sons and daughters
are scattered about this Presidency. I don’t suppose she has anyone
belonging to her at home, and would be rather at a loose end in
Bayswater or West Kensington.”
“She might write her memoirs,” I suggested, and here Ronnie and several
of his friends surrounded our carriage and claimed our attention.
The night that Captain Falkland dined with the Soameses the only
other guests were Major and Mrs. Mills, the chaplain and his wife,
and ourselves--a somewhat sober party. I must confess that I took
unusual pains with my appearance. My ayah and luggage had arrived.
Captain Falkland had never seen me in full war paint, that is to say
in evening dress, for at what he called the “beanfeast” I had worn
a demi-toilette. I think Mrs. Soames was a little impressed by the
fact of our former acquaintance; at any rate, she sent us in to dinner
together, and we talked away gaily.
We discoursed about Torrington and Beke, the “Beetle,” and also the
“Plough and Harrow.”
“That was a ghostly old place,” he remarked. “I spent two nights there
and heard the most extraordinary noises, as if someone was ploughing up
and down the passages.”
“Oh, how amusing!” exclaimed Mrs. Soames.
“Surely you don’t believe in ghosts?” I said.
“No, I’m not sure that I do,” he replied, “although we own one
ourselves--appearance guaranteed only to members of the family--but
I have a sort of sneaking belief in those horrible things called
‘Elementals.’”
“An Elemental--what is that?” I asked.
“Oh, a sort of half ghost, half reptile, a hideous animal--or even a
too frightful vegetable! Germans call them ‘House devils.’ They are the
most modern and fashionable article, and have entirely cut out the old
sheeted spectre and clanking chains business.”
“And what do they _do_?”
“All manner of hateful tricks; for instance, supposing you’ve laid down
a book or an umbrella for a moment, you turn about, and it’s gone!
After a protracted search and considerable loss of time and temper,
behold it once more before your eyes! Say you have discovered something
important in a newspaper and particularly wish to show it to a friend,
you may hunt the paper through and through until you’re nearly crazy,
and there’s not a sign of it. That’s the work of an Elemental. When you
have written, with painful labour, a most particular letter and tip
over the ink--Elemental again! Or when you are late and in a terrific
hurry, and your only collar stud jumps out of your hand, rolls away and
falls into a hole in the floor, you tear your hair, and delight the
Elemental! Some go so far as to say that bruises and pinches for which
we cannot account come from the same quarter.”
“Horrible!” I said. “I’d a thousand times sooner have to deal with a
banshee.”
“Well, yes,” he replied, “they only sit outside the window and howl and
wail; but they will never wail for _you_, as you are not Irish.”
“No,” I said, “I rather wish I were.”
“Do you, my dear girl?” said Mrs. Soames. “How very amusing!”
“They are an attractive nation, a most happy-go-lucky lot,” resumed my
partner. “I sometimes go over there to hunt with a friend. The very
last time I crossed I told the porter to label my luggage for Bristol.
Luckily, I caught him just in time as he was pasting on ‘London.’ I
asked him what the dickens he meant? ‘Shure, yer honour,’ he replied
quite calmly, ‘I’m bound to put _something_ on--and these is the only
ones I have!’ He seemed to think he was doing his duty, and looked so
genial and so pleased with me that I believe I gave him sixpence.”
“It’s wonderful how _you_ get Captain Falkland to talk,” said Mrs.
Mills when we forgathered in the drawing-room; “with me he is generally
as dumb as a fish.”
“He is an example of a man who makes a little conversation go a long
way,” said Mrs. Soames. “Rather a drawback for an aide-de-camp.
However, what he does say is generally to the point, and he has the
most beautiful manners. He must have learnt them from his mother Lady
Louisa--she belongs to the old school, and is as proud as Lucifer! I
don’t envy the unfortunate girl who will be her daughter-in-law. I do
not think that in her eyes anyone short of a princess will be a fitting
match for her dear Brian; however, he is a nice fellow, and one of
those rare, unselfish individuals who enjoy listening to other people.”
“Then I should imagine he has a thoroughly happy time with Mrs. Wolfe,”
said the major’s wife. “She must nearly talk his head off, and with
her great black eyes, enormous mouth and flashing teeth, she sometimes
looks as if she were going to _eat_ him!”
It was painfully evident that this lady was no favourite with Mrs.
Mills.
“Oh, she just talks as easily as she breathes,” declared Mrs. Soames
good-naturedly. “It’s her second nature. She is a brilliantly clever
woman, and _so_ amusing.”
“Well, I much prefer her cousin Miss Payne,” declared Mrs. Mills; “she
is really unique; so original, independent, and interested in the whole
world. Mrs. Wolfe is merely interested in herself and her admirer for
the time being; she cannot exist without some attaché. Whether he likes
it or not she has a way of annexing a man that there is no resisting.
Her tactics are excessively bold and open. If she takes a fancy to
any particular individual his struggles are useless; he is condemned
to dance, to ride, to boat, and to play tennis with her, until she is
tired of his society.”
“But it’s all so absolutely harmless,” protested Mrs. Soames. “Mabel
Wolfe is an excellent wife; her three children are at home, and I
suppose she thinks, being young and gay, that she is entitled to some
distraction!”
“I don’t know what you call ‘entitled,’” rejoined Mrs. Mills, “but I
know for a fact that she was at the bottom of the breaking off of the
Wallington-Allan engagement, and there was ‘distraction’ if you like! I
grant you that she has a wonderfully animated manner. Her descriptions
are vivid, her ‘take offs’ are inimitable. She entertains the men,
and they like her, but, for my part, for a woman with three little
children----” She paused abruptly as the lords of creation were now
sauntering in, and the subject of Mrs. Wolfe and her shortcomings was
postponed to another occasion.
After some desultory conversation, Mrs. Soames uttered the words
“A little music,” and I was conducted to the piano--a rich-toned
Schiedmayer--and Colonel Soames begged me to sing something he had
heard me trying over that morning.
After one song I was urged to many. My efforts were unexpectedly
appreciated. Captain Falkland was evidently fond of music; he stood
by the piano turning over the leaves, and begging for his special
favourites, and I was retained at the instrument until it was ten
o’clock, the hour for the departure of our guests--all early birds.
“Are you riding in the mornings, Mrs. Soames?” inquired Captain
Falkland, as he was about to take leave.
“Yes, to be sure I am,” she replied briskly.
“Well then, if I may, I will call in on Thursday and take my chance. We
might have a gallop round Moul Ali racecourse.”
On Thursday, which was the garrison holiday, a large riding party
assembled outside our quarters. Colonel and Mrs. Soames, Major and Mrs.
Mills, Ronnie and his greatest friend in the regiment, Mr. Arkwright,
Captain Gloag, the adjutant, Captain Falkland, Colonel Grey (a colonel
of the artillery in Trimulgherry--not very far from our lines), his two
daughters and myself.
The Misses Grey, Emily and Mabel, were not remarkably pretty, but
were very popular in the station. Their mother being dead, their
father enacted the part of an effective chaperon. He was a wonderfully
dapper, active little widower, and looked young to be the father of
these well-grown young women, was a capital tennis player and an
indefatigable dancer. It was certainly rather hard upon the girls that
he laid such heavy toll upon them for partnership on tennis court or
in ballroom. At every dance it was an unwritten law that each had to
reserve three dances for her parent. As they danced beautifully their
young men friends considered this claim an outrageous exercise of
parental authority. Certainly the little colonel danced amazingly well.
If by any chance one of the girls “cut” her father’s waltz, domestic
matters would be more or less disagreeable for some time. In all other
respects he was a pattern to chaperons.
Moul Ali, an otherwise forsaken racecourse, was often the scene of
morning and evening gallops, and the forlorn, dilapidated stand made a
suitable resort for _chotah hazri_, afternoon teas, or even moonlight
suppers. The course and stand were the sole attraction to people from
the cantonments, as this portion of the Deccan is surprisingly ugly,
and has to depend for its beauty on sunset and moonlight effects.
The land is barren, covered with low-growing shrub and enormous red
sandstone boulders of every size and shape. So numerous are these
that there is a native legend to the effect that when the Creator had
completed His work, He discharged all the rubbish in this part of the
world. For miles and miles it is a sea of stones, with not even a palm
or a mango tope to break the monotony.
On this particular Thursday morning the sun was scarcely over the
horizon when we moved off _en masse_. I rode with Colonel Soames. Our
way lay along a rough cart track, full of ruts and rocks, bordered with
bleached jungle grass and thorny, leafless bushes. At last we arrived
at our destination and there let ourselves and our horses “out.” How I
enjoyed that delightful gallop with the fresh morning air beating in
my face! Captain Falkland’s great waler and my stud-bred raced along
together side by side, and we were soon far ahead of the rest of the
party.
“Your animal has a turn of speed; that was a good stretcher,” he
remarked, as we subsided to a walk. “You love riding, I can see.”
“Yes,” I replied; “and here it is all so nice and free. One is, as it
were, off the road,” and I waved my hand at the enormous stretch of
open country.
“That’s so,” he assented. “There are no farmers to head you off new
wheat, but it’s pretty bad going. You have not yet come across any of
our big nullahs.” Then turning round, so as almost to look me straight
in the face, “I say, do tell me, now we are by ourselves, how you
happened to come out to India.”
“I wanted to come,” I replied. “I have always longed to see the East.”
“That you particularly wanted anything would be no reason for your
getting it, if I know Mrs. Lingard. Rather the other way I should say;
so tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
“Well then, the real reason----” Here I came to a full stop.
“Yes, go on please--the _real_ reason.”
“Was Beverley,” I brought out with an effort. “He was so horribly fond
of me.”
“Good Lord!” exclaimed my companion. “What a way to put it!”
“And although I couldn’t endure him, and snubbed him fiercely on every
occasion, still my aunt was afraid----” And again I hesitated.
“That you might be tempted? Yes, I see.”
“There were no grounds for her fears I do assure you, but when Aunt
Mina saw a chance of shipping me to India, naturally she seized upon
it--and of course I was only too glad to come.”
“Did she ship you to your brother?” inquired my companion.
“Well--no--not exactly,” I stammered.
“Oh, then, there _is_ something behind!”
“There is,” I admitted.
“Nothing much, I’ll bet my boots. You haven’t it in you to keep a
deadly secret.”
“I’m not so sure,” I replied. “For all you know to the contrary, I may
deserve the kettle. I heard you talking to Mrs. Potter about truth.”
“Yes, I hope I didn’t put my foot in it? Truth, between you and me and
the doorstep, is not her _most_ prominent virtue. Now, you have it
written all over your face; you couldn’t tell a lie if you tried.”
“Please don’t hurl these compliments at me,” I protested, “especially
as I don’t deserve them. I may not tell a lie--but I might _act_ one!”
“What do you mean?” he demanded, reining up suddenly; and Kip, who had
caught us up at last, sat down to pant.
“I do not see why I should explain. You seem to expect me to tell you
everything about myself and my affairs as a matter of course. On your
side, you divulge nothing.”
“I am not as good at talking as you are and I have but little to say
for myself. Possibly, like the parrot, I think the more. Perhaps,
some day, I may tell you something that I would never say to another
soul. Although you and I have met so seldom, we know one another
extraordinarily well, and if there is any truth in the fashionable
doctrine of Theosophy, we were united by a close tie in some former
existence. Do you know I had that feeling when we passed one another on
Slacklands Marsh? Well now, won’t you tell me the great secret?”
“Yes,” I agreed, “but not at present. Do you see,” I continued,
pointing over at the stand rendezvous, “everyone is there
already!--they are waving what looks like a tablecloth.”
“By Jove, so they are!” he exclaimed, as we put our horses into a
canter. “All right, then,” and he looked at me expressively, “your
thrilling story must be continued in our next!”