HYDER ALI’S GARDEN
My new acquaintances, Mr. and Mrs. Hodson, were both very kind to me;
she frequently called to take me for a drive into the country (Hibbal
way). Afterwards we sat in her delightful garden with its spreading
grass plots, clumps of bamboo and loquat trees, and profusion of
English flowers. The sole drawback to this Elysium was the presence of
convicts, clanking to and fro, as they watered and worked among the
vegetables; but I suppose in time one grows accustomed to anything--as
it is said of poor eels, with respect to their skins!
Thanks to Mr. Hodson, I had several private interviews with Ronnie. I
was permitted to give him cigarettes, and to supply him with papers. He
no longer gave way to an unreasoning frenzy of despair, but was more
like his former self; his eyes had their old boyish look, and had lost
their dull, glazed appearance. I had now been four months at Bangalore;
the time had crawled like centuries, and as I gazed into my glass I
told myself that I was almost unrecognisable. Undoubtedly the shocks
I had received since I left England had told upon my appearance. My
face was white and very thin, and my hair, of which I had once been
rather proud, looked lank and dead. After all, although I kept up a
certain amount of cheerfulness with Mrs. de Castro and her friends,
I sometimes wondered that I was still alive. No one but myself knew
of the nights and nights when I lay awake for hours or paced about my
room. The weather was hot and I would have much preferred to walk in
the compound, but for my not unnatural fear of snakes and bandicoots.
A want of sleep, want of appetite, and a want of hope were my three
chief ailments. I had to bear up against not one, but _two_ heavy
troubles. The overwhelming disgrace of my brother and the collapse of
our little home; the cruelty of relations who had closed their ears
to our appeals. Sometimes, with a sort of rage, I told myself that
had Uncle cabled out the money to Ronnie, he would have saved him in
time. Here was surely a sufficient load for one pair of shoulders. But
besides all this, a grief that affected me even more acutely was the
loss of my lover; this was a personal ache that nothing could deaden or
alleviate. It had been my own fault that our correspondence had lapsed,
but to what could it have tended after all? Brian and I could never
be anything to one another. He was naturally the soul of generosity
and chivalry, but we would have to face the Falkland family, public
opinion and general discredit. How could Lady Louisa--said to be the
incarnation of pride--receive a daughter-in-law whose brother was a
convict, the subject of a notorious military scandal? Much as Brian
might care for me, I could never be anything but a millstone round his
neck.
Sometimes my feelings got the better of my convictions, and an
intolerable longing surged up in my heart. At night I would sit down
and pour out my soul in long letters. These letters gave me a wonderful
amount of temporary relief, but when I read them over in the cool light
of morning I invariably destroyed them. I had not had a line from Brian
for more than six weeks, and such is the perversity of human nature,
now that he had ceased to write to me I felt an almost irrepressible
temptation to write to him! Nevertheless I did not yield to it, though
I often debated the question--to write or not to write? Even if I
wrote, and assured him, as before, that all was at an end between
us, but that I was in Bangalore, and would be glad to hear from him
occasionally--to what good would this tend? It was far better and wiser
to drop entirely out of his life, but this resolve did not conduce to
happiness or even consolation.
Kipper’s spirits were undoubtedly affected by my own condition of
hopeless depression--it may have been the effect of a brain wave--but
at any rate whenever we took our walks abroad he no longer bounded
exuberantly in front of me, barking from purest _joie de vivre_, and
challenging all creation from lizards to camels. Now he kept sedately
to heel like a sober elderly dog, obviously on duty and in sole charge
of an elderly mistress. When indoors he lay motionless beside my chair
or bed, following my movements with anxious and adoring eyes, and
occasionally heaving tremendous sighs.
He found his simple relaxation in killing bandicoots (a rat-like
creature with a blunt repulsive face) and in the visits of the tall
yellow and white pariah, who lived next door. I must confess that this
intimacy filled me with amazement. At Beke, Kipper had kept coldly
aloof from the society of his own kind, and had cruelly and even
painfully snubbed the advances of second-rate dogs. If these could
but behold him now!--abandoned to the fascination and blandishments
of a hideous spotted alien, resembling a low class overgrown lurcher;
rolling with him luxuriously in the dust, running mad puppy circles,
and playing hide and seek among the shrubs and oleander bushes in Mrs.
de Castro’s compound! I will say this for Kipper, he never returned the
visits of his playfellow, and had still some lingering sense of _les
convenances_ and etiquette for “Europe” terriers.
Once, when the “Pi” had the audacity to join us in our walk, and came
prancing towards us with a “Hallo, well met!” expression on his cunning
long face, Kipper realised that he must draw the line here, and after
a word or two in nosy dog talk, the intruder accepted a hint, and
disappeared.
One evening we had been for a constitutional far beyond the high ground
and racecourse, and I returned to the de Castro bungalow dusty, thirsty
and tired, looking forward, I confess, to a good cup of Neilgherry tea.
As we entered the veranda, Kip stood for a second motionless, and then
flew like a wild creature into the cave-like drawing-room, and I said
to myself:
“The Pi is there, lying in wait for him! He must _not_ be allowed into
the house.”
I was about to follow and eject the intruder, when Mrs. de Castro came
forward in a state of unusual excitement and with much nodding and
gesticulation informed me in a mysterious whisper:
“A lame gentleman has called to see you. He came in a motor. I told him
that you were out, but he said he would wait; and he has been sitting
in the drawing-room for more than an hour.”
“Unfortunate wretch!” I thought to myself, “who can it be?”
Well, there was no use in speculating, I would soon see. Perhaps some
friend of Ronnie’s? As I entered the drawing-room--which was dim even
at noonday--a tall man, leaning on a stick, came hobbling towards me,
and as he approached the door I saw, to my stupefaction, that it was
_Brian_!
“Eva,” he exclaimed, “so I have found you!”
I was so overwhelmed with astonishment and joy that I was obliged to
sit down, and then, like the poor, weak fool that I was, I immediately
began to cry. Brian drew up a chair beside me, seated himself, and
gripped my nearest hand.
“You did not suppose,” he said, “that I was going to allow you to slip
out of my life like that, did you? I told you once upon a time that I
was tenacious. I did not tell you then, but I say to you now, that
the day we met on Slackland’s Flats--looking into your eyes, I beheld
my destiny--and to my destiny I hold fast. I would have been here six
weeks ago or less, but I was smashed up in a motor accident--concussion
and a broken leg--simple fracture--and so they kept me in a nursing
home, whether I liked it or not. As soon as I could stand I escaped and
came out by the mail--and here I am!”
“How did you find me?” I faltered.
“Tell me first, are you glad to see me--as glad as Kipper?”
“Yes,” I answered, “so very, very glad--though your coming can make
no difference in one way. Do tell me how you found that I was in
Bangalore?”
“It was through that little brick, Sally Payne. She is as sharp as
they make ’em, and she had an idea that, instead of burying yourself
in a hill station, or going home, you had followed your brother down
to Bangalore. She said it would be so like you--and she was right.
Sally saw you on her way to the Neilgherries; she stayed here for a
few days looking about. She heard from her maid, who heard from her
ayah, who heard it in the bazaar, that ‘a tall young English lady
lodging in Infantry Lines had apparently no friends--and there was
something mysterious about her.’ Then one Sunday she caught sight of
you in church, and cabled to me at once; and now, Eva, I suppose you
understand that I have come out on purpose to take you home?”
“No, no!” I protested; “I cannot desert Ronnie. Think of it--how could
I!”
“From what I know of Ronnie he will never agree to such an unnecessary
sacrifice. How is he getting on?”
“At first he wanted to kill himself, but since he has seen me he has
recovered a little. The superintendent is as lenient and thoughtful
as he dare venture; and, after all, a European prisoner, especially
if he is well behaved and gives no trouble, may have a little more
margin than, say, a murderer from the West Coast. Ronnie is now a
convict warder. I saw him three days ago, and he seemed to be in better
spirits.”
“I wonder if I may be allowed to visit him?”
“Oh, yes, I am sure you may.”
“I am also sure, from what I know of your brother, that he has no wish
for you to remain in this country. Come now, answer me--tell me the
truth--what does he say?”
“He urges me to return to England, but I know I am a comfort to him.
Even if I would go Torrington is closed to me. They gave me my choice
of remaining here, or having a home with them. Aunt Mina wrote that if
I stayed in India on Ronnie’s account they washed their hands of me for
ever and ever.”
“But, my dear Eva, Torrington is not the _only_ home that is open to
you in England. What about mine?”
“And your people, and your mother?” I asked.
“My mother sees eye to eye with me in this. I have brought you a letter
from her. She knows all about you, and admires your devotion, as you
will see. Now, my dear Eva, I should like to see _you_. This room is
nearly pitch dark, and, by Jove!--what a room it is! But apparently
your old landlady thinks no end of it; she has been sitting here part
of the time to keep me company, and has told me the price of every
single piece of furniture. She also told me, what interests me far
more, that she is very fond of you, and what was a shock--that she
does not think you are long for this world! Now call a fellow to bring
lamps; I should like to be able to judge for myself!”
In two or three minutes our factotum staggered in with a lamp in each
hand. As soon as he had hung one on the wall, placed the other on the
round table, and enjoyed a thoroughly exhaustive stare at Brian, he
withdrew.
“Now,” said my companion, “take off your hat.”
As I removed it unquestioningly and faced him in silence, I saw his
eyes open, his lips close tightly; there was not the slightest doubt
that the awful change in my appearance had administered a shock! I was
painfully conscious that of my former prettiness not a trace remained.
Brian rose, stick in hand, turned his back upon me, and limped towards
the door. Yes, I was a wreck--apparently the sight had been too
overwhelming; but surely he was not about to leave me like _that_? I
hurried after him, and discovered that it was merely a manœuvre to
conceal his emotion.
“My poor little girl,” he murmured in a broken voice, “every word of
the whole terrible story is written in your face.”
He gathered me into his arms, and for once I shed tears of happiness.