THE ORDER OF RELEASE
Hospitable Mrs. de Castro gave Brian a pressing invitation to remain
to dinner and share “pot luck,” represented, as I happened to know, by
brain cutlets and Bombay toast--no fare for an invalid. He was about
to accept with effusion, when he caught my swift signal of unqualified
horror and murmured a polite excuse. At half-past seven a motor brought
his man-servant to escort him to the West End Hotel, and he departed
with reluctance, assuring me that he “would be round first thing in the
morning.”
“My, but that gentleman do set store by you,” announced Mrs. de Castro,
as soon as he was out of sight. “All the questions he asked about
your health! I told him as your hair was falling in handsful, enough
to stuff a cushion, and you could not abide your food, and your dress
bodies were taken in inches round the waist, and the skirts just
a-slipping off you. My word, but he was in a way. He says he has come
to take you home.”
“Oh no, Mrs. de Castro,” I protested with emphasis. “I shall stay here.”
“How could you have the heart to say no to a fellow with such lovely
eyes? I’m sure _I_ never could--and he was just counting the weary time
till you come back, looking at his watch every two minutes. Well, I’m
thinking you have a hard heart. Your brother has had his turn--has the
other no claim?”
The next morning Brian had a long interview with Ronnie--our good
friend Mr. Hodson being present--and when in the early afternoon we
went for a motor drive Brian told me the gist of their conference.
“Ronnie is anxious for you to return to England with me. On this point
he and I are absolutely agreed,” announced my companion. “I have
assured him that I shall pull every string I can reach to get his
sentence reduced. I may be mistaken, but I have an impression that
three months’ hard labour for a gentleman means as much as six to a
working coolie, and I am sure the indignity bites in ten times more
deeply. As soon as Ronnie is released we will give him a real good
start in the colonies. Meanwhile the Hodsons will keep a kindly eye on
him, and he will feel that you and I are working like niggers on his
behalf.”
This conversation took place as we sped into the open country, and
Brian said:
“I am doing all the talking. What has happened to my prize chatterbox?”
“Neither a prize nor a chatterbox now,” I replied.
“Well, I hope you will return to your old form. Already you look a
shade better, and you have laughed once. Have you read my mother’s
letter?”
“I have indeed. It is too, too kind--I shall treasure it always.”
“She _is_ a dear old Mum, I must say! Well now, shall we turn round and
go to the Lal Bagh?”
“Yes, if you like, but why the Lal Bagh?”
“My father often talked of it when he had a reminiscent fit. He was
quartered here forty-three years ago. His regiment was the Blue
Hussars; their band played at the Lal Bagh, and all the beauty and
fashion processed about like peacocks.”
“No beauty and fashion are to be seen there now, only nurses and
soldiers and Eurasians--except on show days, at long intervals. Polo
and golf and the club have combined to write ‘Ichabod’ over the Lal
Bagh.”
“Well, let us go and see it all the same. I’d like to walk, or rather
hobble, round in the pater’s footsteps.”
The Lal Bagh, or Red Garden, said to have been laid out by Hyder Ali,
is an immense straggling enclosure, full of wonderful exotic plants and
great trees shading long walks; it also contains many cages of wild
animals.
This exhibition never appealed to me. I always felt so sorry for the
animals; they looked, as a rule, hungry and miserable. We turned,
therefore, in another direction and I gave my arm to Brian, who leant
on me and his stick. Presently we found our way to the terrace and
a seat. Here there was no one to disturb our _tête-à-tête_. We were
entirely surrounded by the beauties of Nature; a wonderful profusion
of sweet-scented flowering creepers, these and the palms, ferns, and
forest trees in Hyder Ali’s old garden seemed to envelop us in an
atmosphere of enchantment and peace.
There was the blazing “Sally Bindon,” the “Flame of the Jungle,” the
yellow Burmese forest flower, and the rose-pink “Antigone,” with its
clusters of blossoms, each and all draping trees and walls in our
immediate vicinity. The cloudless sky was of a deep turquoise blue,
the air soft and balmy, bulbuls sang in the rose bushes, brilliant
butterflies and dragon-flies darted to and fro; the silence was
languorous with serenity and ecstasy. We were in another world, far,
far away from shame, disgrace and misery. As I sat absorbed in the
scene and my own thoughts I was considerably startled to hear Brian say:
“Well, now, Eva our next step is to be married!”
“What!” I exclaimed, “but surely not here--not in India?”
“Why not in India? You could not return with me by train and ship as
Miss Lingard! ‘Miss Lingard and maid, Captain Falkland and valet’--how
do you think that would look? And what would Mrs. Potter say? No, no, I
shall fix it all up with the chaplain. You won’t want any trousseau or
wedding reception--for the latter, Heaven be praised! Sally Payne shall
come down from Ooty, and give you away.”
“She has done that already,” I remarked.
“And are you not obliged to her? Anyway, _I_ am in her debt for life.
We will invite the Hodsons and Mrs. de Castro, and have what is called
a ‘quiet wedding.’ No presents, no favours, no cake.”
“I see you have it all cut and dried,” I said; “you have taken my
breath away.”
“I don’t know about your breath,” he replied, “but I shall certainly
take you--or what remains of you--away. On our journey home we will
stop in Switzerland for a time, and there, among the mountains, you may
be able to pick up your spirits and recover your youth. Otherwise your
miserable white face may be attributed to _me_.”
“I suppose the last four or five months have left a mark upon me.
Somehow I don’t think I can ever look or feel as I used to do until
Ronnie is free.”
“There is four o’clock striking,” said Brian, “and no doubt you will be
thirsting for tea. Shall we go?”
“Yes, you have had a long day for an invalid, and I am sure Mrs. de
Castro, who is much taken with ‘my gentleman friend,’ has made a cake
in your honour.”
“All right,” he said rising, “we can do the fort to-morrow, and just
take a run round the station and the barracks before we steer for
Infantry Lines.”
As we rolled smoothly along my companion urged me to give him an answer
to the question of a speedy wedding. I could see his point of view;
business matters in England claimed his attention; he also declared I
must have an immediate change of climate. I begged to have a day or two
to consider the question and to talk it over with Ronnie.
When we drove under the lattice-work porch I was amazed to find Mrs.
Hodson on the steps. At a second glance I saw that she looked paler
than ever and was evidently unnerved.
“There has been an accident to your brother,” she began the instant
the car stopped, “and I have come to fetch you,” pointing to where her
victoria was drawn up at the side of the bungalow.
“We can all go up in the motor,” said Brian promptly, “it will take us
there in five minutes. Please get in, Mrs. Hodson,” and he made room
for her.
Without a second’s hesitation she accepted his offer, sat down beside
me, and seized my hand. Then I knew for certain that the matter was
serious; people invariably took me by the hand when tragedy was
approaching.
“Tell me,” I whispered with dry lips.
“We have been searching for you since three o’clock. There was a bad
outbreak this afternoon in your brother’s ward. Several notorious
characters fell upon others with whom they had a blood feud; they
fought with their spades and mallets, and one powerful brute, a Moplah,
wrenched off his irons and battered a warder to death. Your brother
fought like ten heroes--so much for an English gentleman! Finally he
overpowered the ringleader, but a cowardly blow on the back of his head
struck him to the ground at the very moment when the riot was quelled.
I am afraid Captain Lingard is badly hurt; he is in the infirmary,
and besides the jail doctor we have sent for the civil surgeon. All
that is possible has been done. He has a fine constitution and may
recover--while there is life, there is hope.” She paused for breath and
added, inconsequently: “I am thankful that Captain Falkland is here.”
For my own part I felt so utterly crushed that I was speechless. A five
minutes’ run had brought us to the jail, and at the entrance we were
met by Mr. Hodson. We followed him in dead silence into the infirmary,
and there, on a low cot behind a screen, we found Ronnie. One glance
was sufficient to tell me that he had received his death blow. He would
very soon be _free_!
Two doctors were with him, a half-caste nurse was hovering about, and
the chaplain had been summoned. Yes, these good kind people had done
all that was possible. I could see by his eyes that Ronnie recognised
me; with an effort he said, in a strange, far-away voice: “It’s the
order of release, Sis--and the best way out of it.”
“No, no, Ronnie, _don’t_ say that,” I protested as I sank on my knees
beside him.
“Yes,” he continued faintly, “I’ve nothing to live for; nothing to
leave--not even a _name_. Don’t put it on the stone--and nothing to
wish for”; with a feeble gesture he beckoned to Brian, and laid my hand
in his; in a scarcely audible whisper, he added, “but _this_.”
Then he slowly closed his eyes and relapsed into unconsciousness.
Within half an hour the unfortunate soul of Ronald Lingard had effected
its escape.
We heard full details of the outbreak and of Ronnie’s heroic courage
and exertions; how he and two or three convicts and one warder held
the whole gang at bay, and how by desperate gallantry he had saved the
lives of two venerable Brahmans from Conjeveram, forfeiting his own in
the effort.
Through the kindness of Mrs. Hodson I remained in her quarters that
night, and the next morning Brian and I, and the Hodsons, followed a
very plain wooden coffin to the station cemetery. It may be thought
that for one who had such a cloud on his character, and no alluring
future, this resting-place was better for Ronnie than for him to go
forth from prison and encounter the buffets of a stern implacable
world. To me it was otherwise; I had hoped that in another country my
brother would have made a fresh start, and in a new and happier life
have eventually lived down and redeemed his past.
In obedience to his request the stone over his grave is nameless. On it
is merely inscribed:
R. M. L.
BLESSED ARE THE DEAD.
Brian, the practical and energetic, undertook all business
arrangements, and also distributed gifts to those who had shown any
kindness or sympathy to the late convict, R. Lingard.
Mrs. de Castro was made proud and happy with a silver teapot and a
gramophone (to enliven her receptions); to Mrs. Hodson he presented a
jewelled watch bracelet with an appropriate inscription from B. and E.
Falkland.
Not very long after Ronnie’s death Brian and I were married. Our
wedding took place precisely as foretold during that hour of
enchantment in Hyder Ali’s garden, and immediately after the ceremony,
accompanied by Kipper, we left Bangalore for Bombay.
PRINTED BY
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE,
LONDON, E. C.
15.516
Transcriber’s Note:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Known changes have been made as follows:
Page 136
W. will send down for your things _changed to_
We will send down for your things
Page 253
I usually rode early _changed to_
I usually rose early