THE FLIGHT
As a special favour I was granted permission to have an interview with
Ronnie before he was removed, not to “Windsor Castle,” as Secunderabad
jail was nicknamed--for the regiment had protested--but to Bangalore, a
second-class establishment.
“I wish to goodness they were going to _hang_ me!” was the first thing
Ronnie said, and there was agony in his voice. “I swear I do--only for
you and Uncle. Well, Eva, you must go home and try to make the best of
things.”
“What! and leave you out here?” I cried. “No, indeed, I shall live at
Bangalore until your time is up.”
“Now that is the very craziest nonsense; you must return to Torrington
and marry Falkland.”
For the moment I failed to think of an appropriate answer. Why remind
poor Ronnie that as the sister of a convict I could never be Brian’s
wife, or presume to enter his proud and exclusive family?
“I do not wish to marry,” I muttered at last, and then hastily turned
the subject by asking him if he wanted money.
“No, no,” he replied, “a paternal government provides everything, kit
and all, and I start to-morrow under escort. It was decent of them to
let you see me, and in my own clothes. Good-bye, dear old girl; you’ve
been a real brick to me. Now I implore you to take your own line and
not bother any more about your scamp of a brother. Do you remember when
we sat on the bridge at Beke and had presentiments, and I swore that
I was going to make the name of Lingard famous? I’ve jolly well done
_that_!”
“Don’t say such things,” I burst out hysterically.
“I’ll behave like a lamb,” he continued, “and possibly receive some
indulgence, but I’m bound to be the only officer and gentleman among a
very queer crowd, and I hope the prison diet will put an end to me long
before my term is out.”
At this moment a man whom I had never seen before entered and
signalled that the time was up, and we embraced in silence. The next
morning I was informed that my brother had been taken away by night,
the authorities sparing him as much publicity as possible. Having
ascertained that Ronnie had really departed, I proceeded to lay my own
plans before Mrs. Lakin, who protested in long and eloquent speeches
packed with objections; but my mind was made up, my decision immovable.
“Dearest, kindest Mrs. Lakin,” I said, “Ronnie and I are all in all to
one another; where he goes _I_ go.”
“What--to jail?”
“No; but perhaps I can find some quiet family in Bangalore who will be
absolute strangers to me and my affairs. I can see Ronnie from time
to time, and send him books and papers--he will like to feel that I am
near him.”
“But this is sheer madness, my dear child! You don’t know a soul in
Bangalore.”
“So much the better,” I replied with significant emphasis.
“If even one of my girls was there--but Susan is at Trichinopoly and
Alice at Saugor.”
“Do, do help me,” I urged, and slid down from my chair and laid my
hands on her knees. “I would like to start to-morrow.”
My petition was backed up by Zora, who at this propitious moment had
called to see me, and warmly approved of my project. That a woman
should make the most absolute sacrifice for a man was naturally her own
(the Mohammedan) point of view.
“Eva is right,” she declared. “Imagine the comfort and joy her
visits will be to that poor fellow, cut off from all his friends
and associates. I should think Eva could find a home in some quiet
family--not perhaps in her own class--and she can steal away quietly
from here, and no one need know what has become of her--only we two. I
can take her the whole way to Wadi in my car; the ayah will go ahead
with luggage and wait there--and so Miss Lingard will disappear.”
“Two years in some back-road bungalow in Bangalore will be a sheer
sacrifice of Eva’s youth; of course she should go home to her people,”
protested Mrs. Lakin, who had sacrificed so much herself.
“But I have no near relations except Ronnie,” I announced; “we are
orphans. Do you know Bangalore?”
“To be sure I do, my dear. It was there I was married--in Trinity
Church.”
“Then probably you can tell me of some people who would receive me?”
“Oh, as for that, I could. I know a nice old widow, who was my mother’s
English maid and married a half-caste clerk. She is comfortably off,
lives in the infantry lines, and has no family.”
“It seems to be just the place for me!” I exclaimed.
“No, no,” she protested. “I won’t have any hand in your crazy scheme.”
“Oh, dear Mrs. Lakin, don’t say that. If you do, I shall be living in
Bangalore, possibly with people you might not approve of--unless you or
Zora can suggest something better.”
“I do know people down there,” she admitted, “but they are in your own
class.”
“That would never answer,” I rejoined. “They would want references and
to hear all about me and my business--even supposing they’d receive me
as a paying guest.”
I could see that Mrs. Lakin was relenting by degrees when she said:
“Even if you _did_ go to Mrs. de Castro, it would take a couple of
weeks to make arrangements.”
“But you can telegraph--‘reply paid,’” I suggested.
“I can’t imagine why you’re in such a hurry to get away; I know the
rules, and you won’t see your brother for at least three months.”
“Oh, I’ll see him before that,” I replied with conviction, “even if I
have to go on my knees to the governor.”
“And, my dear Eva, you have not the faintest idea of what you are
undertaking. Mrs. de Castro will not charge you more than thirty
rupees a month, but everything will be very coarse and rough. Native
vegetables, bad bazaar bread, second-class fish, and _goat_!”
“I don’t mind in the least,” I answered recklessly.
“Well, I suppose a wilful girl must have her way,” and after long
persistent arguments and an inexhaustible amount of persuasion I
prevailed on my kind friend to write to her Bangalore acquaintance on
my behalf.
By return of post we received a reply from Mrs. de Castro, saying that
she would “be glad of the young woman’s company--and money for her
board.”
When the shock of the verdict had somewhat abated, I wrote several
important letters; it was a new experience for me to be relying solely
on myself. First I wrote to my bankers, and instructed them to pay
to Colonel Soames the sum of four hundred pounds, the amount of the
missing canteen money. I felt a great sense of relief as I closed and
addressed this missive; at least the regiment would not experience
any pecuniary loss--it was their good name which had suffered. My
next letter was to my uncle. I sent him a long, detailed and truthful
account of the whole tragedy; carefully pointing out every extenuating
circumstance, and endeavouring to touch his heart. So far he had not
answered Ronnie’s appeal, but I was determined that he should take
notice of mine. Ronnie’s cry was for money--mine for sympathy and
forgiveness. I also wrote to Mrs. Paget-Taylor, and implored her to
use her influence to soften my uncle and aunt with respect to my
brother; and last, but not least, I wrote to Brian. Without any attempt
at softening facts, I related the history of Ronnie’s temptation and
disgrace. I said in the course of the letter:
“Ronnie is already a convict in Bangalore jail. I know that this news
will shock you; the whole affair fell upon me as a thunderbolt. It has
all come from Ronnie’s passion for gambling, which I honestly believe
is his only failing, but has brought him, as the world can see, to
the most frightful grief. I am sure you will remember how popular he
was with crowds of friends. Well, at the present moment he has not a
single one in the world except myself, and of course I shall stick to
him. He would to me under similar circumstances. Ronnie was always
the best and kindest of brothers. This sudden and dreadful trouble
will, of course, put an end to our engagement. My dearest Brian,
how could you possibly marry the sister of a convict, who is serving
his sentence, and whose case has rung through every club and every
regiment--not to speak of the whole Press? I cannot express to you
what this blight on my future costs me. I know that you will be sorry
for me, and perhaps a little sorry for Ronnie. Please do not write, it
would only make matters worse, for I can never come into your life,
and must do my best to put all thoughts of you out of my mind. I leave
here in a few days to await in some quiet place, and among total
strangers, the date of Ronnie’s release.”
Now that my correspondence had been dispatched by the English mail,
I began to make arrangements for departure, and here I had an active
assistant in Zora. My scheme had her enthusiastic approval. By her
instructions all my pretty, smart dresses, jewellery and dainty
belongings were duly collected, packed, and sent away to be stored
under her father’s roof till better days dawned. For the next two years
I would have no occasion for smart frocks or ball gowns, and with only
a modest outfit in two boxes I was ready for my journey. Under my
present circumstances I did not require an ayah, and old Mary and I
separated with mutual regrets. As for the Lakins, they could not have
been kinder or more sympathetic if I had been their own daughter. The
evening before I departed the colonel beckoned me mysteriously into his
office, and told me in a low voice that if I wanted money I was to be
sure to apply to him.
“I know,” he added, “that you have a bit the sale brought you, and I
have paid it, as you wished, into the Bank of Madras; but later on, if
you find yourself getting a little low, you’ve only to drop me a line,
just the same as if you were one of our girls.”
I endeavoured to thank him, but he would not listen to me; on the
contrary, he insisted on my listening to _him_.
“I must tell you that I do not approve of this step you are taking--no
more does Lucy. Of course old Jane de Castro will look after you,
but you will find her a dull companion, and I do not see how you can
possibly hold on with her for more than a few months. I can enter into
your feelings in wishing to be near your brother, but I am sure you
ought to think a little of yourself, and after you have seen him and
cheered him up a bit, you really should go home.”
I listened to his advice with profound respect, but I was sensible that
nothing would induce me to accept it. Mrs. Lakin, too, had provided me
with a generous supply of admonition and warnings; and also endowed
me with a basket of provisions that would have kept a hungry family
for a week. She exhorted me to write to her continually, and actually
threatened to come down to Bangalore in order to see with her own eyes
how I was getting on.
In the midst of our leave-taking talk and Mrs. Lakin’s last
instructions, Zora’s big motor glided into the compound. My boxes
were placed upon the roof--a tiffin basket also--and Zora herself
accompanied me down to Wadi, closely veiled. She gave me much sweet
sympathy and many wise injunctions, saw me into a comfortable carriage
in the Madras mail, and behold me launched into a new world!
Before my departure I had written to Mrs. Soames, Mrs. Mills, and other
friends, bidding them farewell, thanking them for all their kindness.
To poor Mrs. Lakin I deputed the heavy and thankless task of explaining
my flight. In answer to numerous inquiries she assured her questioners
that I had insisted on leaving, in spite of all that she could urge or
do, but the truth was, I could not endure to remain in Secunderabad. I
had been very mysterious about my destination and address; my desire
was, if possible, to be absolutely forgotten. For all these stories may
my good kind friend be absolved.
It was naturally assumed that I had taken flight to England, until Mrs.
Potter announced in the _morghi khana_ that I had been seen on the
road to Wadi in Balthasar’s great grey motor with luggage on the top,
_and not alone_. Moreover, it was an incriminating coincidence that
Balthasar himself had disappeared from Chudderghat on the very same
day!