THE RESIDENCY BALL
It was the middle of November, months had flown like weeks, and
days like hours. The annual great ball at the Residency was
imminent. For a ball no more auspicious place could possibly be
selected than the splendid Durbar Hall, with its fine teak floor and
crystal chandeliers--said to have been “borrowed” from the French
at Pondicherry. Everyone on Government House list had received
invitations, and guests were flocking not only from the city of
Hyderabad and the cantonments, but from Raichore and even far distant
Poona. I had a lovely new ball-dress held in reserve for this supreme
occasion. It was the white and silver gown which I had worn when Mrs.
Hayes-Billington told me that I was “lovely.” Of course she was a
flatterer, but, whatever I might be, I don’t think there could be any
question with respect to my frock.
Just as my toilet was completed and I was taking “a last fond look”
the ayah introduced an enormous bouquet on a tray. It was not my style
of bouquet in the least--tight in structure and overpowering as to
perfume; moreover, I had grave suspicions as to the donor.
I inspected it, sniffed at it, and then handed it back to the ayah and
told her that she might keep it for herself.
“What for I doing such stupid nonsense?” she asked in her most
querulous key. “I putting in missie’s bath tub for to-night; to-morrow
the mali will arrange in best vases in drawing-room.”
“I do not wish to see the flowers again,” I replied impatiently, “take
them away--_throw_ them away!”
Whilst I was still commanding, and she entreating, my official chaperon
called for me in the brougham. Ronnie and the colonel had driven down
together in the dog-cart. It was rather a long journey to Chudderghat,
and when we arrived at the Residency we found the great steps
encompassed with such a crowd of carriages and motors that we were
obliged to wait for a quarter of an hour before it came to our turn.
The scene in the ballroom was dazzling. Such brilliant functions are
rarely witnessed in England; putting aside the vast well-proportioned
hall, its blazing chandeliers and banks of tropical flowers and palms,
the company was unique--crowds of pretty women and girls in fresh smart
gowns, officers in all sorts of uniform, from the ordinary volunteer
in black and silver to a gorgeous Golconda Lancer. There were present
many nobles from the city, wearing magnificent satin and brocade coats
encrusted with gold embroidery, their turbans glittering with aigrettes
of diamonds, their throats encircled with enormous pearls, their
belts a mass of precious stones. These--members of the Court of the
Nizam--were merely ornamental and dignified spectators.
Most of the other guests were swinging round and round to the strains
of a delightful waltz, swaying and revolving in time to the beguiling
violins. What a riot of colour and movement, of costumes and figures!
With difficulty we made our way to the end of the room to speak to
Lady Ryder, and there we halted for a moment and looked about us. A
waltz was over and people were walking about or talking in groups. I
noticed Mrs. Lakin in a much-creased black velvet, old-fashioned Swami
ornaments and two-button kid gloves.
“She hasn’t had a new dress since she married her daughters,” explained
Mrs. Soames, who was herself excessively smart in a mauve confection
direct from Jay’s. “She rarely goes out,” she continued, “but feels it
a duty to be present on this occasion. I expect she will sneak off home
before supper.”
Mrs. Wolfe flared by in a wonderful orange garment; she was looking
unusually brilliant, her black eyes blazing with excitement. Partners
were beginning to discover me, and in a short time my programme was
crowded, even “extra extras” were bespoke. The band was playing
another delicious waltz, and I was soon swimming round with Ronnie, an
absolutely perfect partner--we always danced the first waltz together.
My next was with Roger Arkwright; after him with Captain Gloag the
adjutant, a stiff formal individual who invariably wore a harassed and
careworn expression. Captain Gloag was succeeded by Captain Falkland,
who had coolly put himself down for two waltzes and the supper dance.
Although we had met pretty often at polo, tennis parties, gymkhanas and
the boat club, yet, since that day at Moul Ali, we had never had any
really serious conversation. Recently he had been away with the general
on a tour of inspection, and had only returned to Secunderabad on the
night of the ball.
Just towards the end of our second waltz we were resting after a
long round, looking on at the gay and whirling crowd and remarking
on various people. There was Colonel Grey gyrating with Mabel, and
Roger Arkwright leaning against the wall following the couple with an
expression that was all but murderous. Suddenly I was accosted by Mr.
Balthasar, glossy, prosperous and heavily scented, wearing an enormous
diamond as a shirt-stud, and a pair of skin-tight lavender gloves. We
had in a way patched up a truce, and he had actually dined with us at
No. 30--but not to meet my present partner. Having bowed himself before
me, he said:
“As I was so unfortunate as to find your programme full, my very good
friend your brother has given me his second dance, which I think is
number fourteen?”
For a moment I was speechless with annoyance, and then I said: “I
didn’t know there were such things as second-hand dances.”
“Oh, yes, when charming young ladies are in great demand such things
can be arranged. Will you not dance number fourteen with me?”
“What is it?” I asked brusquely, “a square?”
“No, it is a waltz.”
Now, I found myself in a most disagreeable dilemma. For Ronnie’s sake
I must not offend this creature; for the sake of my own self-respect
nothing would induce me to waltz with him.
“You may have a square, number thirteen,” I said haughtily. Balthasar
rolled his eyes alarmingly, and became a shade more sallow, but rallied
and said:
“Thank you, Miss Lingard; half a loaf is better than no bread,” and
without another word he retired.
During this little scene Captain Falkland had stood beside me in rigid
silence. I thought he might have helped me out. In some ways an A.D.C.
is expected to be ready with expedients. But no, he remained stiff and
immovable, as if he had been a figure in armour.
“Just one more turn before the band stops,” he said, and I was whirled
away.
When the waltz was over we strolled into the great veranda to look for
seats, and came to a large chintz-covered lounge on which Sally Payne
was enthroned in conspicuous solitude. As usual, she was beautifully
dressed and wore a string of fine and unquestionably real pearls. When
we approached she patted the seat beside her, and I sat down.
“Hallo, Sally!” said Captain Falkland. “Patience on a monument, and all
alone! What does it mean?”
“It means that I have sent my partner to fetch me an ice. Did you
know that Captain Falkland and I are cousins?”--addressing me. “He did
not recognise me at first because I had changed my name, although I
am still ‘an unappropriated blessing.’ Formerly I was Sally Rivers.
A relation died and left me a fortune”--and she touched her pearls
significantly--“and the name of Payne. So for once pain brought
pleasure! I remember Falkland as a dreadful little boy. I had not seen
him for twenty years until the other day; he has grown up better than I
expected.”
“Sorry I can’t return the compliment, Sally,” he broke in. “It is most
unseemly for you to be privateering round the world all by yourself.”
“By no means,” she rejoined. “I led a very pinched, narrow sort of life
for years, and now I’m having my little fling. Some day perhaps I may
settle down. After my forty-fifth birthday has passed I shall marry the
first man that asks me. There! You are both witnesses. Miss Lingard,
you haven’t spoken a word. A penny for your thoughts?”
“I have been thinking that we are all related,” I answered. “Captain
Falkland pretends that the Falklands and the Lingards are cousins.”
“Pretends!” he expostulated, “I do like that! Allow me to refer you to
the family pedigree.”
“If Captain Falkland and I are cousins and you are his cousin, and Mrs.
Wolfe is your cousin--we must belong to the same tribe!”
“Very well, Miss Lingard,” said Sally, “in future I shall call you
by your Christian name, and when I die you must promise to go into
second mourning. Ah, here comes my ice at last! Strawberry, I hope. And
now you, my two nice new cousins, may pass on”; and without further
discussion we took her at her word.
Captain Falkland had put himself down on my card for the supper dance,
and I was just about to go in to supper with Roger Arkwright when he
appeared, and stood before me and said:
“May I have the honour of taking you in?”
“I have promised Mr. Arkwright.”
“But you are engaged to me for the supper dance. You must have supper
before the dance--otherwise how is it a supper dance?”
“That is a funny argument,” exclaimed Roger, and he glanced at Falkland
and laughed.
I don’t exactly know how it came to pass, but my cavalier
good-naturedly relinquished me, and I presently found myself walking
away in company with Captain Falkland. As we passed down a corridor
I saw approaching a rather striking pair, a tall man in uniform and
a tall girl in white. As we came nearer I discovered, with a mental
start, that the couple were ourselves!
“I had no idea it was a mirror,” I exclaimed. “I thought we were
meeting two strangers.”
“Yes, a study in gold and silver,” he replied, referring to the gold
on his uniform and the silver on my dress. “Now that we have seen
ourselves as others see us, what is your opinion?”
I found this question rather embarrassing, and made no reply, but I
could not help recognising the fact that we had made an effective
picture.
The supper-room proved to be crowded; it looked as if every chair and
every knife and fork were in use. After steering me through blocks of
guests and waiters my partner managed to secure two places by squeezing
in at the corner of a table occupied by a large and noisy party,
including Mrs. Potter; by bad luck Captain Falkland’s seat was next to
hers. I say “bad luck,” as I knew they were as inimical to one another
as cat and dog. He was never to be seen in her train. For her part, if
she found an opening for giving him a nasty thrust she did not overlook
it. It was her openly expressed opinion that “he was a shockingly bad
A.D.C., and totally wanting in manners and tact.” Fortunately this
verdict was not supported by the station.
As we talked together of trivial matters I was aware that all the time
Mrs. Potter, though ostensibly carrying on a conversation with her
neighbour, was listening to every word we said and only waiting for
an opportunity to burst into our _tête-à-tête_. Presently she made an
intrusive remark, and instantly she and my partner began to spar. I
did not take any share in the conflict, but talked to a major in the
Tea-Green Lancers, who was on my left--a most amusing neighbour, and
the best amateur actor in southern India. As we talked and chaffed I
found myself enacting the rôle of Mrs. Potter, and endeavouring to
overhear what she and Captain Falkland were talking about. Their
voices were low, and among scores of other tongues and the crash
of the band near by I was not particularly successful. I gathered
that repeatedly he attempted to cut short her flow of speech, but
such efforts were paralysed by her tireless volubility. At last her
companions began to move; they were giving parting toasts. Turning to
my friend with lifted champagne glass I heard Mrs. Potter say:
“Come now, a pledge, Captain Falkland!”
“All right then, I will,” he answered in a tone of angry decision, and
lifting his glass and looking her full in the face I distinctly heard:
“Here’s to the light that lies in woman’s eyes!
And lies--and lies--and _lies_!”
“How dare you!” she exclaimed in a furious undertone. “How dare you
insult me!”
“I mentioned no names,” he replied in his coolest manner; “you asked
for a toast, and I gave the first that came into my head.”
Mrs. Potter listened to his lame explanation with an expression of
concentrated ferocity, then hastily collecting her party she turned her
back upon him and left the supper-room in what was a most realistic
presentment of high dudgeon!
“I could not help overhearing your toast,” I said as soon as I had
recovered my partner.
“I suppose not. Now, thank goodness, we shall have elbow room. May I
get you some quails in aspic?”
“No, thank you,” I replied, “I’ve had soup, and I never eat at a ball.
I believe you have driven Mrs. Potter away, and made her your enemy for
life.”
“She was always _that_,” he answered with amazing nonchalance; “she
knows me, and I know her. She cannot spare infants in arms or even
the dead. What a tongue! Mrs. Potter does not leave a feather on any
woman in the station. In the good old days she would have found herself
sitting in the public stocks.”
“Who is she so particularly down on this evening--a friend of yours, I
imagine?”
“Yes, if you will allow me to call you so.”
“So then she was talking of _me_!”
“Yes, you will laugh when you hear her latest. She warns me that you
have a mysterious past; that you came out to India and lived with some
disreputable people long before you dawned on Secunderabad. I gave her
one for her nob, I can tell you!”
For a moment I could not think of any appropriate reply, and at last I
brought out Mrs. Soames’s well-worn expression, “How amusing!”
“Yes, isn’t it? Well, now shall we go and dance, or are you dead tired?”
“I’m never tired of dancing,” I answered, as I rose and collected
gloves and fan.
“And what about me?” he said. “I was on horseback the whole of
yesterday, an early inspection and long railway journey to-day, letters
and telegrams to answer on arrival, gobble down dinner, dress, come
here and reel off a dozen duty dances. I tell you what! I know a nice
cosy nook up in the gallery where we can sit and talk, or rather you
shall talk and I will listen.”
“You are reckoning without me,” I protested. “I don’t think I’m as
great a chatterbox as I used to be.”
By this time we had ascended into a gallery which commanded a splendid
view of the hall, and as I sat down Captain Falkland turned to me and
said:
“I say, Miss Lingard, I can’t stand that fellow Balthasar. I can’t
imagine what your brother sees in him.”
“Neither can I.”
“Well, I gathered as much from the way you choked him off just now, and
flung a square dance at his head.”
“I wouldn’t have even given him that but that Ronnie has asked me to be
civil to him. I think it’s something to do with racing and that they
have a mutual interest in a speculation.”
“Ah! My own impression of Balthasar is that he is a wrong ’un, a
sort of parasite hanging on to the Nawabs in the city, and squeezing
out money and concessions for his schemes in gold and coal. He has
a bad influence over young fellows. Gets them down to his house in
Chudderghat and encourages them to gamble and drink champagne--and I
can’t stand seeing him talk to a woman. As he was jabbering to you this
evening I felt half-inclined to knock him down and wring his neck.”
“That would indeed be strong measures!” I answered with a laugh.
“Ronnie says that, making all allowances for his foreign blood, he is
not such a bad fellow.”
“He is a _beast_!” declared my companion with vicious energy. “Don’t
let’s talk about him any more. And now,” suddenly sinking into the
chair beside me, “behold, this is the hour and the moment for you to
tell me that _secret_.”
“Must I really?” I asked with a start.
“Yes, I’ve hardly been able to sleep for thinking of it,” and he
laughed. “You know you broke off just in the most interesting place
that morning we rode on the racecourse at Moul Ali.”
“And that was ages ago,” I said. “Fancy restless nights for weeks--how
too dreadful!”
“Well, now, please put an end to my misery and impart your awful tale.”
“It is rather awful,” I said gravely, “and I believe you will be
shocked.”
“Oh, no fear of that,” he answered. “It would be absolutely impossible
for _you_ to shock _me_.”
“Well then, you shall judge,” I said. “There is never smoke without
fire. Mrs. Potter has some grounds for her story,” and sitting up
and grasping my fan tightly in both hands, I turned towards him and
continued with my usual volubility. I described the visit of the
Hayes-Billingtons; her extraordinary beauty and charm, my aunt’s
fascination and temptation; how Mrs. Hayes-Billington and I had come
out together in the _Asphodel_.
“Why, she’s just a ditcher,” he interrupted.
“If that means a horrid old tub, she was,” I assented, “but Captain
and Mrs. Hayes-Billington could not afford the P. and O.”
I next proceeded to draw an attractive, not to say rosy, picture of the
delights of Silliram--tennis tournaments, dancing and picnics. Then I
came to a full stop and an appreciable silence ensued.
At last Captain Falkland said abruptly:
“So you were up there for six whole weeks and have never said a word
about it?”
“There is a reason for it,” I answered, looking at him steadily.
“Ronnie and Mrs. Soames know, and so by great bad luck does Mr.
Balthasar. He was at Silliram and dined with us one night.”
“Well, for Heaven’s sake hurry on and tell me this mysterious reason,
before I go clean mad.”
For a moment I paused, figuratively to pull myself together. At last I
said:
“Did you ever hear of a Mrs. de Lacy?”
“Why do you ask?” he said sharply. “What can _you_ know about her?”
“Only--that Mrs. Hayes-Billington was formerly Mrs. de Lacy.”
On hearing this announcement Captain Falkland turned hastily round so
as to confront me face to face; he looked almost pale.
“_What_ did you say?” he demanded, speaking in a hard voice, strangely
unlike his usual tone.
“Exactly what I have told you,” I replied. “Of course I need not assure
you we never knew this at Torrington, but you can’t very well ask a
lady for her reference or character as if she were a housemaid. Mrs.
Hayes-Billington was received with open arms at Silliram, she became a
great social success, and was taking the principal part in _The Scrap
of Paper_ when one of the audience recognised her and gave her away.”
“So I should hope. Fancy that woman daring to undertake to chaperon a
young girl! Well, tell me what happened next?”
“A man who called on us recognised her and wrote down to Ronnie. He
arrived the very morning after the explosion and took me off at once.
The whole station was shaken to its foundation; there was a tremendous
social earthquake, and Mrs. Hayes-Billington was cast out of the club
just as if she had been a live cobra. I may confess to you that in my
heart I pitied her. Like some drowning creature she had struggled to
the bank, but was seized and flung back into deep water.”
“_Now_ I can understand why Mrs. Soames was so anxious to conceal the
date of your arrival in India,” he observed, entirely ignoring my
protest, “and so far she has been wonderfully successful.”
“Mr. Balthasar may give me away,” I suggested.
“In that case, I’ll shoot him! But he won’t. More likely he’ll try and
blackmail you. If he does, just hand him over to me.”
“Did you ever hear of Mrs. de Lacy?” I inquired.
“Hear of her!” he repeated. “Why, I knew her. She ran away with
Vavasour of my regiment. We met her up in Cashmere. She certainly was
extraordinarily beautiful, and he went clean off his head. As far as
looks and manners went, she snuffed out every woman in the place--like
the sun among a box of matches. Her husband was a tough old civilian,
who left her, by all accounts, to run her own rig--her career was
erratic and notorious.”
“I don’t think she was really so black as she was painted.”
“_Don’t_ you?” he said, considering me with amused, sarcastic eyes.
“She was always very nice to me,” I persisted, “and somehow I could not
imagine her otherwise.”
“Oh, she was ‘very nice’ to lots of people! I agree with you there. She
was so awfully nice to old Holliday the judge, that he gave her----” He
paused and said: “Well, well, well, we will let bygones go and say no
more about her, but I’d give ten pounds to see your Aunt Mina’s face
when she hears the history of your chaperon! I must say I blame her for
the whole thing. It all came from her indecent haste to get you out of
the country. However, every cloud has a silver lining, and it was a
very nice silver cloud that brought you down here to _me_.”
As he spoke he took my fan in his hand and was about to say something
more. I felt my heart galloping like a fire engine, when I heard soft
footsteps and a rustle behind us; Mrs. Wolfe and her partner had
invaded our retreat.
“Oh, you dreadful, faithless man!” she exclaimed, dangling her
programme before Captain Falkland, who sprang to his feet. “I’m afraid
I shall be obliged to report you to the general for conduct unbecoming
an officer and a gentleman. Our dance has already begun, so do come
along! Captain Stainforth will take charge of Miss Lingard, who is no
doubt also hiding from her own legitimate partner!”
As Mrs. Wolfe concluded, she put her white-gloved hand under Captain
Falkland’s arm and led him unresistingly away.
Her taunt was based on truth! I met my “legitimate partner” as I
entered the ballroom. The poor man had been hunting for me everywhere,
and as we prepared to launch into the vortex I noticed my late
companion and a yellow gown whirling together in the middle of the
room. He and I did not exchange another word that evening, though once
or twice--especially in my set of lancers with Balthasar--I noticed him
watching me fixedly. It was four o’clock in the morning, and a sort
of green light of dawn was glimmering along the horizon, when Mrs.
Soames and I drove away from the Residency. I was very, very tired;
as I sank into my corner of the carriage I felt like a limp rag doll.
Mrs. Soames, on the contrary, was unusually brisk and lively. She had
enjoyed supper, not once, but twice, whilst I had tasted nothing but an
ice and a cup of soup, and that was scarcely sufficient to sustain even
a girl in hard training for six hours’ incessant dancing.
“My dear,” said my companion, “you were an immense success. I don’t
mean to flatter you--the young men will do that--but I quite agree with
Lady Ryder, when she said you looked like the princess in a fairy tale.
Wasn’t it amusing?”
“Oh, Mrs. Soames,” I murmured, in an exhausted voice.
“I saw that you gave a square dance to that dreadful Balthasar, but I
must confess that you did not look as if you were enjoying yourself.
More like the goddess of war with a drawn sword in your hand, or our
dear Lady Disdain--so amusing!”
“I hated dancing with him,” I said peevishly, “but Ronnie likes me to
be civil to everybody.”
“I danced twice with Ronnie; he is a dear, good fellow, and never
forgets that an old married woman may still enjoy a waltz. Jim went
home about one, but I, as you see, played the conscientious chaperon.
Thank goodness to-morrow will be Thursday, and there will be no parade,
and everyone can enjoy a Europe morning.”
“I feel as if I could stay in bed all day,” I murmured.
“No, no, my dear,” protested my companion, “you must come to tiffin
with me. We will talk over the ball; how everyone looked and behaved,
and you shall tell me about your partners, and which of them you liked
best?”
As the ayah was undressing me that morning, she asked me in a drowsy
voice:
“Where got missie’s fan?”
Where indeed! Then I suddenly remembered how Captain Falkland had taken
it away. What had he done with it? There are no pockets in uniform. In
the surprise caused by Mrs. Wolfe’s sudden descent upon us he must have
stuffed it into the breast of his coat. I rather hoped that he would
keep it!