CLOUDS
When I whispered my news to Mrs. Soames she instantly ejaculated her
usual formula:
“Oh, _how_ amusing!”
The colonel’s lady was no less delighted than surprised, and as full
of excitement and importance as if the match was one of her own
contrivance. She was anxious that we should make the engagement known.
I saw her cast a longing glance at her writing-table, and knew that she
was eager to send nice little notes to Lady Ryder, Mrs. Wolfe and Mrs.
Mills, but against such a proclamation I set my face, and implored her
to keep the matter, at least for the present, a dead secret.
Of course I took Ronnie into my confidence; at first he looked
scornfully incredulous, then stupefied.
“I never dreamt it would come to that!” he said at last. “I can’t think
how you two made it up. I never saw you much together.”
His feelings were contradictory, I could see. He was not pleased--and
yet again he was pleased.
“You will take the _pas_ of Aunt Mina,” he remarked. “Won’t she be
furious? And, of course, in a way it’s a grand match. The Falkland
family is as old as the hills, and as proud as Lucifer, but I could
never cotton to Falkland, he has such strained ideas of honour.
You must never discuss a woman in public, and all that sort of
old-fashioned twaddle. I think you are right to keep the engagement
dark as he is not here. Envious people might say that the whole thing
only existed in your imagination, and, as I have already observed, you
and he were never very chummy--although I now remember that he used
to ride up to church here on Sunday evenings, and always sit where he
could see you.”
The news of Captain Falkland’s sudden departure for England made quite
a stir at the club. Mrs. Soames assured me that everyone was talking
about it and saying all manner of nice things about him. In spite of
his rather slow manner it appeared that he had a very active brain.
The general and Mrs. Graham were completely lost without him, as he
had been invaluable to both, as a smart officer and a tactful A.D.C.,
never mixing uncongenial people or sending guests into dinner in wrong
seniority and thereby causing much heart-burning and enmity.
As I did not appear at the club for two or three days, having a bad
cold, I was honoured by a visit of inspection from Mrs. Potter. She
came ostensibly to see Mrs. Soames, and dropped in on me on the way in
her fine motor-car. She found me sitting in the veranda with Kipper on
my lap, and I think the spectacle startled her not a little.
As I ushered her into the drawing-room she said,
“As I was up in this part of the world I thought I would just look in
on you. I heard at the club that you were rather seedy.”
“Only a cold and a little touch of fever; I shall be well by to-morrow.”
“Is that _all_ that ails you?” and she looked at me with a malicious
glance and added: “Someone told me that it was a serious heart attack!”
I laughed. I think my laugh annoyed her, for she said:
“And so your friend Captain Falkland has gone! That _was_ a sudden
flight.”
“I believe his father is very ill.”
“I wonder,” she murmured meditatively; “or was it just an excuse to
clear out of a compromising fix and a dangerous neighbourhood?”
As I saw that she was bent on being excessively spiteful and
disagreeable I remained silent.
“I see you have got his dog,” she continued. “Love me love my dog, eh?”
“The dog was originally mine,” I said.
“Ah, then I suppose you both love him! So you and Captain Falkland know
one another at home?”
“Yes.”
“It is doubtful if he will ever come out again. We shall all miss him
tremendously. Do tell me, is it true that your brother is not going
home with the regiment, but is trying _very_ hard to get into the
Indian Army?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, “but I do not think it’s the least likely,
or he would certainly have told me.”
“Ah, my dear,” she said, “brothers don’t tell their sisters everything,
and possibly you have your girlish secrets from him. I think you have
some small trifle up your sleeve--a little mystery about your coming to
India.”
“I came to India in the usual way,” I answered, “by sea.”
“And were a most delightful importation! Well, now I must be going. As
you have a sore throat you really should not talk. Au revoir! I suppose
you will turn up at the club in a day or two?” and with a smiling
farewell she swept out.
It seemed to me about this period that my happy time was coming to
an end. It was not only that Brian Falkland had gone home and that
I missed him dreadfully--missed the pleasure of looking forward to
meeting him--I even missed the little disappointments when he failed to
appear. The sun did not shine so brightly, nor were the skies now so
blue; also I was haunted by the unpleasant presentiment that trouble
was approaching. Ronnie was changed. He was strangely altered in the
last few months. His spirits were fitful--sometimes he was too noisy,
talkative, and excited; sometimes so silent and in such a mood of
black depression that I feared he was sickening for an illness. To my
anxious inquiries the invariable reply was, “Only a touch of fever.”
His face was paler, there were lines about his mouth, his eyes had
lost their glance of irresistible gaiety; he often looked haggard
and worried--especially, I noticed, after he received cables and
telegrams. At night I could hear him pacing the compound long, long
after he had ostensibly retired to bed. Ronnie, who had always been so
polite and considerate to our servants, was now impatient, irritable
and overbearing. I had known him to throw a boot at the _chokra_ and an
oath at Michael.
Although I was secretly miserable I followed Lizzie’s sage advice, and
kept my trouble to myself, nor did I, such was my moral cowardice,
venture to appeal to or question my brother, but maintained our
intercourse on the ordinary everyday level. Since my early youth at
Torrington I had a shrinking horror of scenes and rows, and once when I
had thrown out a timid feeler it had been brusquely repulsed.
Money, with which Ronnie was once so lavish, had now undoubtedly
become scarce. When I asked for my monthly allowance for wages and
bazaar I was put off with an impatient excuse. The mere hint at the
payment of bills appeared to exasperate him, and so, for shame’s sake,
I settled the smaller accounts and servants’ wages out of my own
pocket. Hitherto I had shared expenses, contributing ten pounds a month
towards housekeeping, and this I handed over intact to my brother.
Shop bills, bazaar bills, that I thought he had paid, now poured in in
shoals, and the club account was appalling. A talk with Roger Arkwright
made me even more uneasy. He joined me one day as I rode back from
Secunderabad, and after a little commonplace conversation began rather
nervously:
“I say, Miss Lingard, you will forgive me if I am taking a most awful
liberty--you know that Ronnie and I are old friends and schoolfellows,
and all that sort of thing. Just lately I’m afraid he has got his money
affairs into a hopeless hash. He won’t listen to a word I say, and
though I don’t like doing it I feel obliged to ask you to try to get
him to take a pull. He gambles.”
“Only at bridge--for small sums.”
“You can lose very heavily at bridge,” said Roger gravely, “and also at
poker. Ronnie plays high at the club, and also down at Balthasar’s.”
“Balthasar’s!” I echoed in dismay.
“Yes, fellows drive down there, dine, and play chemin de fer. On these
occasions I’m afraid Ronnie tells you that he’s on guard, or dining
at some mess. He is not our old Ronnie; no, he has come under some
bad influence this last year. Don’t you notice how he has changed and
aged, and that he’s not half as cheery as he used to be? He has become
so terribly restless, and seems always in a condition of feverish
excitement. I believe he and that chap Fox, of the Tea-Green Lancers,
who has loads of coin, cable home and back horses, and lately I fancy
they have both been rather badly hit.”
“This is terrible!” I gasped at last. “I knew that Ronnie was short
of money lately, and he certainly does not look himself; but I never
dreamt of what you have just told me.”
“It’s partly the fault of Fox,” he replied, “who eggs him on and has
a bottomless purse. I think there is a sort of rivalry between them.
Ronnie has always been so popular, with his polo and rackets, quite a
celebrity in his way, and inclined to be a bit extravagant. Then he
went home last year and, apparently, got hold of a good sum of money.
Well, I’m afraid from all I hear that he has come to the end of that
now. The colonel has had hints of his debts and I am told is rather
uneasy in his mind, and if something, or someone, does not interfere,
Ronnie will find himself in hot water. I believe he has borrowed money
from that fellow Balthasar.”
I felt so shaken that I could not speak--only stare at my companion
with what, no doubt, was a face of horror.
“Always remember you can rely on me, Miss Lingard,” continued Roger.
“Whatever happens I will stick by him--and here he is now,” as Ronnie
cantered up behind us with his pony in a lather.
“You look as if you’d come far and fast,” said Roger, with a quick
change of manner.
“Yes, I’ve just been down to Chudderghat,” he answered, “something to
do with the next gymkhana on the Futeh Maidan.”
I felt positively certain that this was an untruth. Ronnie had been
down to interview Balthasar. As I rode towards home I made no attempt
to join in the conversation. My mind was in a tumult. What was I to say
to Ronnie? How could I economise and help him? I would send away the
_dirzee_ and one of the table servants. I had nearly a thousand rupees
with Bunsi Lal the banker. I must speak to Ronnie about his affairs
without delay, and was screwing up my courage to the sticking-point--as
Ronnie was always so irritable whenever I mentioned money. But as
it happened I need not have troubled myself, for as soon as Roger
Arkwright had cantered off towards his own quarters Ronnie turned and
attacked me.
“I know what’s coming!” and his face was livid; “you and that fellow
Arkwright have been laying your heads together about _me_.”
“Do you mind if we did?” I rejoined courageously--but my voice was
shaking.
“Yes I do. Now understand, I won’t have either of you meddling in my
affairs. What’s he been saying?”
“That you gamble.”
“That I gamble,” mimicking my voice. “And if I do?”
“He says you have lost a great deal of money; that you go to
Balthasar’s to play chemin de fer, and are heavily in debt. Oh, Ronnie
dear, don’t be so hard and reserved, so unlike yourself with _me_,” I
pleaded. “I have money at the bank--do let me help you! I shall sell
Tommy Atkins and economise in every possible way. Do take me into your
confidence--for, after all, there are only the two of us.”
“Well, since you put it like that, as the professor used to say, I
don’t mind telling you that I _do_ owe some thousands of rupees.
Balthasar has got me out of a pretty big hole, and I shall be able to
settle up everything before long and be clear.”
“Oh Ronnie--how splendid!” I exclaimed, now inexpressibly relieved.
“Yes--if Collarette wins the Calcutta Cup; and if not I shall pull
through somehow. I cannot think how my affairs are known; the
morghi khana is a hotbed of gossip--those women have tongues of fire.
The colonel was quite shirty with me yesterday about my mess bill, and
Mrs. Soames, who always takes her cue from him, was as cool as ice
when I met her at the boat club. But don’t be uneasy, old girl,” he
concluded, as he assisted me to dismount. “I shall go slow for a bit
and it will all be as right as rain.”
But _I_ was not so sure. I was sensible of gathering clouds, and that
very day I drew my balance from the bank, cleared off the hateful
bazaar bills and wrote home for more money. Letters from Brian were
such a comfort now; they gave me great happiness and support. He had
written from Bombay, Aden and Port Said. These epistles were not long
but they were most satisfactory, and written in the clear deliberate
hand that accorded with himself.
For a week or two, so far as bills and money troubles were concerned,
there was a great calm. I had not sold Tommy Atkins, and I rode,
played tennis, and went about as usual. I noticed, however, that Mrs.
Soames was by no means so intimate or confidential as formerly. On the
contrary, she had adopted an attitude of freezing reticence. I think
she was painfully exercised in her mind. On the one hand she saw her
protégée the future Countess of Runnymede (a match that when made
public would glorify her as a chaperon), and on the other was Ronnie,
her former chief favourite, in deep disgrace with her autocratic
husband. Although nothing serious had been said or done there was a
coolness; we were no longer invited to supper on Sundays, and at an
afternoon club dance Mrs. Soames refused to honour Ronnie with her
usual waltz!
During these socially grey days I received the following letter from
Mrs. Hayes-Billington. It was written in a feeble and almost illegible
hand:
“MY DEAR EVA,--I have to thank you for your kind, cheerful little
notes, but I am past cheering. I seem to have arrived at the end of
all things. My health has been on the wane ever since I came to this
awful place, and I am glad to say that I shall not be here long. As
it is, hours seem endless. I have no companions, nothing to do but
lie and think; I close my eyes and contemplate the days that are no
more, and the people to whom _I_ am no more. I live some happy scenes
over and over again. Then I open my eyes to find myself alone and
dying, and the worst of it is that I suppose I have deserved my fate.
I offended Mrs. Grundy and she has killed me! Poor old Bertie, he will
be sorry. I cannot tell you how kind and unselfish he is, but he is
obliged to stick to his work, which claims his time like an insatiable
monster, and it is reported that the mine is not paying. How I wish I
could see your bright, happy face once more! but I know that such a
wish is folly. Good-bye, my dear girl, try and think of me as kindly
as you can. Bertie will write to you when all is over.
“D. B.”
I must confess that this letter made me shed tears.
After the scene with Balthasar, when he told me of Mrs.
Hayes-Billington’s loneliness and illness, I had written to her pretty
often, and sent her newspapers, books and sweets--remembering how she
loved chocolate. I wondered what Brian would say if he were to come in
and find me weeping over a letter from Mrs. Hayes-Billington. Perhaps
Ronnie was right, and Brian was a _little_ bit straitlaced.
Another letter that I had recently received was of much more cheerful
character. It came from Lizzie Puckle. She wrote to announce that she
was about to marry a Canadian engineer, and was sailing for Montreal
in a month’s time. I was delighted for Lizzie’s sake that she, too,
was about to flap her wings and see the world--but sorry for myself.
Somehow Canada seemed so far away, and I felt as if she were about to
pass out of my life entirely.
* * * * *
At last the sword that I half dreaded fell! The beginning of the
trouble was an order from headquarters announcing that the regiment was
not to be relieved for twelve months. This was a blow to some, a relief
to others, and a surprise to all. There was a hasty cancelling of sales
and a general readjustment of plans. I wrote the news home to Brian
and said: “As your father is so much better, I shall look forward to
seeing you here very soon.” I felt that in a crisis, or the storm that
was approaching, he would be my mainstay. I had always realised that
Brian was a strong man.
Immediately after the order respecting reliefs was known, I was
conscious of a still greater change in Ronnie. Collarette had been
ignominiously defeated; this was a serious blow, and our financial
affairs were far from flourishing. I disposed of two of my best
scarcely known or worn frocks to the Greys, dismissed the _mali_, and
left off sugar and claret; but to cope with our difficulties was beyond
my powers. Instinctively I grasped this truth, and my spirits, once so
high and exuberant, now fell to zero.
One Sunday night I noticed that Ronnie, who had been out all day and
returned an hour late for dinner, was looking unusually haggard and
dejected. He scarcely uttered a word or ate a morsel, but swallowed two
very stiff pegs, and when the meal was over rose and said abruptly:
“I have a lot of work to do, Sis; do not mind me but go to bed, and on
no account sit up.”
Obediently I retired into my room and put on a dressing-gown, and as
soon as the ayah had brushed my hair dismissed her. There was not the
slightest use in attempting to go to bed, for I knew that I could not
sleep. I was oppressed with a premonition of some imminent disaster; so
acute was this sensation, that it seemed as if the horror were actually
present in the bungalow. I tried to read, but the attempt was a
failure; then I got up and crept into the dining-room. Ronnie’s office
and dressing-room opened out of it and I peeped in. He was sitting with
his back to me at a table, his head resting on his hands; I wondered if
he were asleep. At any rate, he was totally unaware of my presence, and
I crept away as stealthily as a thief in the night.
In an hour’s time I returned, resolved to insist upon his going to bed.
On this occasion I made no attempt at concealment, but boldly pushed
back the purdah till the rings jingled.
Ronnie heard my footfall on the matting, and started. As he turned
about, I felt my heart contract, for I saw that his face had a ghastly,
glazed appearance, and that he held a revolver in his hand.