PUNISHMENT
As I leant against the gate, with my head resting upon my arms, I felt
bowed to the earth with abject misery and quaking fear. It was as if an
impenetrable black cloud had suddenly descended on my life, and blotted
out every gleam of hope and happiness. From this sort of hideous
nightmare I was aroused not only by the ducks but also by a bugle call;
the early-rising world of India would soon be afoot, and I wrenched
myself back into the present actual moment and turned towards the
bungalow, which faced a by-road. No one had noticed me so far, beyond a
few passing market coolies and the _tannyketch_, whose affair it was to
provide for the poultry.
As soon as I had entered my room I removed the revolver from its
temporary hiding-place, and buried it in a large tub of hydrangeas that
stood outside my door; then I threw off my dressing-gown and scrambled
into bed. I usually rose early, and too soon Mary ayah would appear,
bringing me tea and toast. Already I heard her anklets jingling, and
feigned sleep. I endeavoured to make the pretence real, as a strenuous
day and a dreadful ordeal lay before me, but I found it impossible to
rest. My head seemed to throb and burn; I imagined I could feel it
thumping on the pillow, and no wonder! My brain was racked in torture,
striving to find some clear, straight road out of our difficulties--for
Ronnie’s difficulties were mine. I lay thinking hard for nearly an
hour, and then rose and felt considerably refreshed after my bath and
breakfast. Ronnie had sent me a little note to say, “I expect to be on
the ranges till four o’clock. _He_ will be here about three.”
Evidently I would have to meet Balthasar alone. Perhaps after all
it would be best. I spent the morning in making out a list of the
contents of the bungalow in a long narrow bazaar book supplied by the
cook. Pencil in hand, I carefully counted up our glass and china, our
pictures, ornaments, furniture--even the very ducks--and in short
everything available for “a sale,” for, of course, if Ronnie were now
penniless, we must speedily shift our quarters.
All this business occupied my mind and kept me from thinking, yet now
and then I was seized by a horrible sort of mental nausea. How was I to
beg from Balthasar--to implore, to abase myself--and to succeed? As the
dreadful hour approached my heart beat fast. Oh, how much I would have
preferred to be about to face a surgical operation! However, I made a
great effort to prepare for the ordeal and to look my best. I waved
and re-dressed my hair, and selected a pretty pale blue summer muslin
over silk far too smart for the occasion, but I knew it was becoming.
As I looked in the glass I saw that my cheeks were unusually pink, my
eyes unusually bright. Outwardly all was well; inwardly I was on the
verge of a terrible outburst of tears, and tears were the last thing I
must yield to, that was certain! Balthasar was not the sort of man who
would be touched by these. I started violently as I heard the hoot of a
motor, and rushed to my little medicine chest and fortified myself with
a dose of sal volatile--a detestable expedient, but it might give me
composure and courage--how badly I needed both!
When I entered the drawing-room our visitor was already in the veranda,
and as he strutted in I instantly realised that here was the Balthasar
of Silliram--truculent, overbearing and hateful.
“Is your brother here?” he asked, after our first greeting, rolling his
eyes all over the room in search, no doubt, of Ronnie.
“No, he has been on the ranges all day,” I replied, “but I expect him
home shortly.”
“He asked me to come and see him on most particular business.”
Balthasar spoke with an injured air as he sat down and carefully
hitched up the knees of his trousers. “Well, this is a nice affair,” he
continued, “your brother has no doubt told you that he has been playing
the very devil?”
“I am afraid he has been imprudent,” I murmured.
“You call it imprudent?” raising his voice. “Well, I call it by another
name, and the fine young gentleman wants me to lend a hand with a big
cheque in it to pull him out of a hole.”
“I am sure you are kinder than you make yourself out to be, Mr.
Balthasar. Can you not help him?” I ventured timidly.
“No; why should I?” knitting his black brows. “He would go ahead and
back horses. What a young fool! Only for me he would have been in
big trouble before this. I have lent money--certainly it has been
repaid--but then there was the risk. No, no; I can do no more.”
“Then in that case, why did you come?” I asked with a touch of temper.
“I believe Ronnie was trusting to you for assistance.”
He looked momentarily taken aback and then replied in his slow drawl:
“I came just to see how he was going to work his head out of the noose,
and also because it gave me a chance of meeting _you_, which is always
such a pleasure.”
“You say that you have lent Ronnie money before and been repaid. Can
you not do so again? I believe you are a very rich man, Mr. Balthasar,
and a sum that would be salvation to Ronnie is a mere trifle to you.”
“Where is my security?” he demanded sharply.
“I can give security. I have money in England. See,” I said, rising and
going to the table; “here is a letter I have written to my bankers,
asking them to sell out stock, and remit the amount to me.”
“Oh, oh! Then you are of age?”
“Yes, I was twenty-one a week ago.”
“Ah, I should not take you for more than eighteen.” And he stared at
me with a solemn air of deliberate speculation. “Your fair hair and
skin belong to the _teens_.”
“Won’t you lend Ronnie the money now?” I pleaded, anxious to divert the
conversation from my personal appearance, “and I will repay you, as you
can see, at once. You may, if you please, cable to my bankers, and----”
“How much do you want?” he interrupted abruptly.
“Four hundred pounds.”
“And when?”
“To-night--to-morrow it may be too late.”
“Oh, oh!” And he gave a horrible sort of chuckle. “Then matters are
serious.” He sat for a moment contemplating his neat patent leather
shoes. At last he said:
“Well, supposing I do advance this will you give me a formal paper,
stamped and witnessed?”
“Of course I will,” I answered eagerly, “and be most grateful to you
for your kindness.”
“Grateful!” he repeated, with cynical insolence. “My dear young lady,
gratitude is of no value in business--but I’ll give the cheque.”
“Not a cheque, if you please, but money; notes will be best.”
“All right,” he agreed, “you shall have the money in notes. I will send
it up to-night by ten o’clock, in charge of a special messenger.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you--how good of you!” I began.
But again he interrupted me with a wave of his beautifully manicured
hand:
“Besides a speedy return of this large sum I must call upon you for
something extra in the way of--shall we say--interest? No, not money,
but--er--consideration and appreciation. You have always held me off;
can I ever forget my dance with you at the Residency ball, or the
memory of what happened in this very room?”
Something in the tone of his voice and the peculiar expression of his
eyes frightened me. My hands were locked in my lap that he might not
see how they were shaking.
“Do please forgive me,” I pleaded tremulously. “I was a proud child
with a fiery temper, and I’m afraid I cannot always control myself.”
“You have openly snubbed me, my beautiful young lady, and to tell me
you have a temper and are sorry is of no use. You must be prepared to
pay me in my own coin.”
I waited in agony to hear my sentence.
“Oh, you need not go so white,” suddenly leaning over and stroking my
cheek; “I prefer the pretty roses.” As I recoiled he added, “And the
payment I require is a mere nothing. In the eyes of the whole station
you have always scorned me in your cool, haughty English manner. Now,
you shall appear in public as my dear friend, make what is called ‘a
demonstration,’ and let all the world see that we are on the very best
of terms. My new motor is here. Go and put on your smartest hat and
come with me, and show yourself in my company. First of all, we will
drive up to the polo at Bolarum. There is a big match to-day--the
Hussars and the city team. From there we will run down to the Hussain
Saugur and look on at a boat race. Afterwards we will go to the club
and have a nice little tea together, and then I will bring you home.
How do you like the programme?” His interrogative grin was frankly
diabolical.
How could I like the programme? I was aware that to be seen in
Balthasar’s great grey motor would, so far as the world was concerned,
cast me socially into outer darkness. Everyone would believe that we
were engaged. This motor drive round Secunderabad and its principal
resorts would amount to the precise equivalent of an announcement in
the London _Morning Post_. My heart sank. I was painfully alive to
the effect of this ostentatious tour, and realised my hateful fate. I
was the slave who was about to be dragged at the conqueror’s chariot
wheels; nevertheless, I resolved to make the sacrifice for Ronnie.
After all, it would not be of such deadly consequence, since he and
I would soon disappear from the station. As I rose to get ready my
companion said:
“If you will draw up your acknowledgment of the money and receipt now,
I can take it with me. It is merely a form, and I’ll send up a trusty
messenger to-night.”
Strange to say, some lingering sense of prudence compelled me to reply,
“I will have it all quite ready when your messenger comes.”
“How suspicious we are!” he exclaimed with a shrug. “Well, run along,
my beautiful young lady, and put on your best hat--the one with the
white feathers; it looks so nice and honeymoony. Ha! ha! ha!”
I believe our retinue could scarcely believe their eyes, when they
beheld me come forth and, though every fibre in my being rebelled
against the situation, take my place beside Balthasar sahib in his
great grey car. Soon we were gliding towards the R.A. lines and away
to the polo ground. I met, alas! many of my acquaintances; there were
the Greys and their father, General and Mrs. Graham and Major and Mrs.
Mills--riding. Their stares of incredulity were as so many stabs. At
the polo other people also gazed--my friends with amazement and it
seemed to me a sort of incredulous horror. One or two men strolled
over, and accosted me, and talked perfunctorily of the game and the
weather. I believe they really came to see if they could believe their
senses, or if it was somebody faintly resembling me who was sitting
there beside Balthasar. My hateful companion discoursed in a loud,
guttural voice; bragged of his new car and its cost, and said that
“with a little practice, a lady,” here he nodded familiarly at me,
“would _soon_ learn to drive it.”
I was too paralysed to repudiate the suggestion, but my face probably
spoke volumes. In Balthasar’s car I could sympathise but too acutely
with the sensations of a rabbit in a snake house! Presently, when all
the world and his wife had enjoyed every opportunity of beholding me,
we went away at great speed down to the boathouse, where I was once
more placed on show! Finally we drove to the club, and there, in the
most conspicuous place that he could select, Balthasar and I had tea.
Every eye was upon us, and as he kept muttering: “Talk, talk, talk;
try and look as if you were enjoying yourself! If you don’t play the
game and do _your_ share, you can’t expect _me_ to do mine,” I was
compelled to chatter any nonsense that my dazed brain could invent,
whilst he lolled in a chair, enacting the part of a complacent and
well-entertained potentate. People who knew me well nodded, but no one
approached, except good kind Mrs. Lakin, who came over to where we were
seated, and said:
“I am going up to Trimulgherry, my dear” (which remark was a most
barefaced untruth, as her home was in the opposite direction), “and I
can give you a lift, so that you won’t be taking Mr. Balthasar out of
his way, and there is a little matter I want to consult you about.”
“It is too good of you, my dear madam,” replied my companion in his
most unctuous voice, “but Miss Lingard is in my charge. She _loves_
motoring, and I am sure you would not wish to cut short her pleasure.”
Vanquished Mrs. Lakin, with a sympathetic glance at me, withdrew in
helpless silence, and was presently lumbering out of the compound in
her dilapidated victoria.
By and by, when the club had scattered to bridge, billiards, or
the library, I was relieved from my rack and carried back to the
cantonment. As I stepped out of the car I said, in a tone of humble
apology:
“I know I’ve not been good company, but I am sure you must realise that
I am most dreadfully unhappy about my brother.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” he assented; “he is an infernal young ass.”
“And you will keep your promise,” I added, resting my hand on the
car; “we may rely on you? You _will_ send it by messenger as soon as
possible?”
“Of course, you may rely on me,” he answered impatiently; “my clerk
will be with you at ten o’clock to-night. I’ll see you again before
long,” and he signed to the chauffeur to proceed.
After this agonising experience I felt mentally prostrated, and sank
exhausted into a long chair in the veranda. Ronnie, now at home, came
quickly forward, and when I said “It is all right,” the relief in the
expression of his drawn, worn face was some recompense to me.
After dinner we sat out in the compound, watched the dancing fireflies
and listened to the distant band, for it was “guest night” at the mess.
“He said the clerk would be here at ten o’clock.” I repeated this more
than once--the announcement seemed to give me confidence. “It will be
all in notes,” I added.
“So much the better,” said Ronnie. “In fact nothing else would do.
I’ll take it up early to-morrow, get hold of the key, stick it into the
safe, and hand it over to the old man. Oh, _what_ a load off my mind!”
Ten o’clock struck and we listened intently; in the still Indian night
there were no sounds but the distant barking of a dog, the stamping of
a pony in the stable and the thrumming of tom-toms in the Trimulgherry
bazaar. Eleven o’clock--oh that agonised hour of long-drawn suspense!
At last a _gurra_ sounded twelve distinct strokes.
“Eva,” said Ronnie, suddenly breaking our poignant silence, “that
black-hearted devil has played _you_ false, and ruined _me_!”
“Don’t give up yet,” I said, “as soon as it’s light take my receipt and
Tommy and gallop down to Chudderghat and fetch the money yourself.”
“Right O!” he agreed eagerly. “Yes, it’s our one chance. I shall have
to be back before orderly-room, which is at eight o’clock.”
Long before eight o’clock Ronnie had returned, and I knew at once that
the worst had happened! With a ghastly, rigid face he staggered into
the veranda, as Tommy Atkins, dripping with sweat, was led away.
“The whole thing was a fraud--a devilish fraud!” said Ronnie, as he
leant against a pillar and mopped his face. “Balthasar was not there.
He left the station last night, and no one knows where he has gone or
when he will return. He always had his knife into you, Eva, ever since
the day you turned him out. Get me a peg; I must try and pull myself
together before I go to the orderly-room and face the music. Hallo,
here is Gloag!” he exclaimed, and to my astonishment Captain Gloag
rode into the compound. He pulled up at the steps, threw the reins to
a syce, and clanked into the drawing-room, where we followed him in
silence.
“Good morning, Miss Lingard,” he said, looking more wooden-faced than
ever. “Good morning, Lingard. Ahem--I’ve come on a rather unpleasant
duty. Your presence is required in the orderly-room. The colonel has
told me to receive your sword, and to place you under close arrest.”
With a face as wooden as the adjutant’s, and without a word, Ronnie
went inside in search of his sword, and Captain Gloag turned to me and
said:
“This is pretty awful for you, Miss Lingard. There has been some sort
of mystery about the canteen funds, so the safe in the orderly-room was
opened this morning--the drawer and the partition in which Lingard was
understood to keep the notes was found empty. The safe has two keys; he
had one when acting adjutant. Of course he _may_ be able to explain all
this, but the colonel is in a terrible state--regimental funds should
never be removed.”
Here Ronnie appeared with his sword and handed it over in silence.
“Better start at once,” said the adjutant. “Will you send for your
pony?”
Ronnie gave the order, but otherwise remained dumb, and in less than
five minutes I saw him ride away with Captain Gloag, who carried his
sword in the sight of all spectators--our servants, and the Millses’
servants--every one of whom realised what this portended as well as I
did myself.